O'erthrown
by Faye Dartmouth
Summary: Sam and Dean take an unexpected break that leads them into uncharted territory.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **Sam and Dean take an unexpected break that leads them into uncharted territory.

**A/N:** This fic has been the bane of my existence for the past month now, so I figured I better start posting it before I seriously lose my mind. This will be a LONG fic, which is always a scary thing, considering my aversion to writing things with a plot. Therefore, it starts off a bit slow, in my opinion, but there is a conflict that will eventually mount hopefully, maybe. The idea, however, is not my own, so much thanks to Lauren, who gave me the idea and let me run with it. Hopefully it doesn't hit too far from the mark you were envisioning. And, always, always, always, thanks to geminigrl11. I can't even express what she's done for me and this fic. Gem, next time I get it in my head to write a long fic, will you please talk me out of it? PLEASE! By the way, uoy kcor ym ecaf ffo!

**Disclaimer: **I just like to play, I really do.

* * *

**O'erthrown**

"O! what a noble mind is here o'erthrown"

_-from William Shakespeare's _Hamlet_  
_

**Chapter One**

There were two things that Dean knew better than anything else.

The first was his brother. He knew Sam inside and out, could read him like a book, or at least he thought he could. He knew when Sam was lying to him, even if he didn't know what he was lying about or why he was lying at all. He knew when his brother was happy, really happy, which was a rare thing anymore. He knew when his brother was upset, not just annoyed in the petulant, little-brother sort of way, but truly bothered, which thankfully wasn't as often as most people would think, Sam's masterful brooding aside.

After all, he had practically raised Sam. He'd changed his diapers, fed him, put on his Band-Aids, and even told him about the birds and the bees. There was very little Dean didn't know about his brother, his proximity as older brother nearly guaranteeing such.

The other thing Dean knew better than anything else was his car. He'd known that car even longer than he'd known Sammy, and a car was far less averse to exposing its imperfections than a little brother was. He'd learned to drive in it, learned to kiss in it, learned to make a nearly reckless escape in it. He'd seen it through a few minor fender benders and a host of costly repairs that grieved him almost as much as anything possibly could.

Sam was more important than the car in all the ways that mattered, but they were both giving him fits right now.

He'd first noticed the problem with Sam when they'd finished their last hunt. It had been a haunting in southern California, which had started and ended normally enough, and neither of them had been any worse for wear when they set out. But as soon as they set out on the road, Sam had been different, been off. At first, Dean let it slide, hoping that Sam would normalize on his own, but last night he'd caught his brother surfing the web at 3 AM with nothing more than a feeble excuse of not being tired.

He'd cursed at Sam and guilted him back into bed, where Sam awoke a mere hour later from a nightmare. A nightmare, Sam assured him, not a vision, but it was bad enough. He'd been hoping that the nightmares were behind them--they had tapered off ever since their trip back to Lawrence--because Sam was irritable when he didn't sleep, and Dean got tired of cracking jokes no one laughed at.

But while the lack of sleep on Sam's part concerned him, it was the car that was garnering his attention at the moment.

Dean first noticed the noise an hour outside of California. It was small, nearly imperceptible, but he could hear the unusual timbre of the humming engine just below the sound of the highway.

He listened to it with a scowl, and considered pulling over, but the highway was lonely and barren and the day was hot. He spared a glance at Sam, who was staring out into the countryside.

"Do you hear that?"

Sam squinted at him. "What?"

"That noise," he said, nodding toward the front end of the car.

Sam listened for a moment. "No. Why?"

"Really?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're paranoid."

"Just careful, Sammy," Dean said. "You've got to be aware of the little things, keep track of the signs, or they become big things."

"Whatever."

Sam was slumped down in the seat, arms across his chest, his face set in its typical brood. It was a familiar enough sight, but Dean could see that there was still something off, something more off than the uncertain twinge of the engine.

"You get any sleep today?"

Sam simply kept his eyes out his window.

"Sam?"

"Not really tired," Sam mumbled.

Dean snorted. In the afternoon sun he could clearly see the dark circles that were entrenched under Sam's eyes. "You look worse that she sounds," he commented with another nod to the car.

"I'm fine."

"Right." Dean turned his eyes in exapseration back out to the highway. "You're always fine."

A moment passed between them with nothing but the sounds of the road filling the car. Sam offered no further explanation and Dean ventured no further concerns.

When it was clear Sam didn't plan on discussing his problem any time soon, Dean considered another tactic to lure Sam out of his funk. Humor, especially at the expense of his kid brother, never failed to make things seem normal, and sometimes acting normal was the first step in attaining it. "I think you need to apologize for your unkind words."

"What words?"

"About me being paranoid."

"Oh, come on."

"You can never be too careful about these things. If not for this car, how would we get anywhere?"

"You're a freak."

"Go to sleep," Dean ordered with a grin.

With a frustrated sigh, Sam sunk farther down in his seat, turning his head away from his brother. "I'm not tired."

"Aw, does Sammy need a lullaby?"

"Shut up," Sam grumbled and closed his eyes.

Dean snickered and pressed down on the gas, heading into the Utah desert.

**OOOOOOO**

It was only a half hour later when Dean stopped for gas. As he pulled into the station, he noticed the clinking sound seemed to become more vigorous as the engine whined to a stop.

He glanced at Sam, who was doing a pathetic job of pretending to sleep. "You need anything while we're stopped?"

"I'm going to run to the bathroom," he said, sitting up. "You want me to get you anything?"

Dean peered at the road stretching beyond the gas station. "Nope. I think I'll wait for someplace a little more interesting to stop for real."

Sam just rolled his eyes and got out.

Climbing out after him, Dean moved around to the far side, readying the pump to fill the car up. Putting the nozzle in, he started filling, and leaned back on the car, taking in the surroundings.

The town was nondescript enough to be any of the nameless places they had passed through in their lifetime on the road. The gas station was just on the edge of town, and he could see that the road went straight through, impeded only by a single stop sign up the road.

Sam returned just as the car was filled. "You want me to drive?" Sam asked.

"You haven't slept."

"Yes, I did."

"You're a bad liar, Sam."

Sam relented. "I rested."

"And I'm driving," Dean insisted.

"You need to rest, too, Dean."

"I can rest while driving. Besides, I'd never get any sleep worrying about your tired ass behind the wheel."

Sam patience with his brother's concern was waning. "You need to let this go."

"Just get in the car," Dean ordered.

"You've been driving all day. And all day yesterday. Give me the keys."

Dean stared hard at his brother, noting the defiance in his stance, and considered. Sam could function under remarkably little sleep, and he'd never known his brother to nod off at any time that wasn't appropriate. His own eyes were weary, and suddenly he craved some rest. "Fine. But I swear—"

"I'm not going to hurt your stupid car."

Dean threw the keys at him and slid into the passenger's seat.

Sam plopped down behind the wheel, turning the key into the ignition.

The engine rumbled, spluttered cacophonously, and then died with a series of intermittent clanks.

They both stared ahead in the silence that followed.

"You hurt my car."

"Shut up," Sam said curtly, trying the key again.

The engine didn't turn this time, only offered a few pathetic grumbling clinks, before stilling.

"You still think I'm paranoid?"

"Shut up."

**OOOOOOO**

Dean generally didn't trust mechanics, especially not with his baby, but beggars couldn't be choosers in rural Utah.

Sam said it was fortunate that the gas station had a body shop. Dean didn't think anything about the Impala breaking down in the middle of the desert was fortunate.

The mechanic on duty was a greasy-haired kid who looked younger than Sam. He was skinny like Sam too, but Dean could tell there was little muscle under the kid's stained jumpsuit. He had stuffed himself under the car right in the parking lot, and when he came scooting out, his nose was wrinkled thoughtfully.

Dean tried to be patient. Sam had already disappeared after buying a paper, to see what was up in the town, leaving Dean alone with his angst over his car. "So what's wrong with her?"

The mechanic looked pensive. "Hard to say. I'm going to have to do a full inspection to be sure."

"We're kind of on a tight schedule," Dean began.

The kid seemed unfazed by Dean's subtle urgency. "We'll be working on her. But it may take awhile."

"Awhile?"

"You want a thorough job, right? I mean, I could guess and say it's the transmission right now, but do you really want to pay for all the parts and labor for it to be something else?" the kid asked, in a clearly rhetorical tone of voice. Dean detected a hint of sass in his youthful voice and cringed as the kid tried to smooth over his anxieties. "You let us do our job. Your baby's safe with us."

"We're just passing through—"

"There's a nice little motel up the way," the kid said with a nod down the street. "Other end of town. Across from the pizza place."

Dean struggled to maintain his cool, to not go off on some kid for being greasy and annoying. He forced a smile. "When are you going to know?"

The kid shrugged. "Boss'll be in after lunch. I'll get her towed into the shop and get her up. We'll see. You can call us tonight before 8 and we'll tell you what we know."

Dean glanced at the car, then back to the kid, then back at the car again, and grumbled his acquiescence.

**OOOOOOO**

Taking a business card and leaving a fake name, he emptied the trunk of their meager travel necessities, checked to be sure the weapons were locked and concealed, and left the parking lot on foot and headed toward the heart of town.

It wasn't hard to find Sam. His kid brother was lounging on a park bench in the quaint town square, flipping absently through his newspaper.

He sauntered up to his brother, dropping the bags at his feet. "Well, Sam, how would you like a little time off?"

Sam raised his eyebrows, glancing at Dean from behind the paper. "Time off?"

"Sure," he replied easily. There were few things that could improve his mood without fail. Tormenting his younger brother was one of them. "We can take in the sights and action in wonderful New Junction, Utah." He flicked at the newspaper.

"Here?" Sam lowered the paper.

"Why not?"

Sam glanced around, taking in the two block long main drag of town. Gazing to the left, they could easily see where the road dwindled into open land, mountains in the distance. "Dean, the main attraction in this town is probably karaoke night. Not exactly your ideal vacation spot."

Dean grinned. "We know how good you are at karaoke."

Sam rolled his eyes. "The car's that bad off?"

"They're not sure what's wrong with her," Dean replied with a sigh, plopping down next to Sam on the bench.

"You know, the car has been breaking down a lot lately."

"Sam." Dean's voice carried a warning.

"I'm just saying." Sam tried to sound innocent.

"Well don't," Dean said, grabbing Sam's duffel and tossing it at him. "Not if you value your life and your ability to have children in the future."

**OOOOOOO**

True to the greasy mechanic's word, there was a rather decrepit looking motel on the far edge of town. The paint was peeling on the doors and three cars were parked in the lot. The VACANCY sign flickered, clearly on its last legs, and Sam figured that the NO had never seen any action whatsoever.

Dean had gone in to secure a room, and left Sam in the sweltering afternoon.

Leaning against the outer wall of the motel, Sam took in the surroundings. The motel was on the way out of town, on the left side of the road next to a café and a Laundromat.

He glanced inside. Dean was leaning over the corner, smiling widely at the young woman behind the counter. She was leaning into him provocatively, and Sam could see her seductive upward glances at his brother.

With a snort, Sam turned his attention back out to the scenery. He took in the wooded area just behind the sparsely populated motel parking lot.

His eyes wandered across the road, where a rundown pizza joint was standing, its grimy sign boasting the name "Ricky's Pizzeria."

No, New Junction wasn't exactly the ideal place of a vacation, but Sam couldn't deny that he was looking forward to some time away from the hunt. The continual travel was wearing, and recently he had found himself uncomfortable on motel room beds--he was so used to sleeping in the car that the roar of the engine and the trembling of the car over the pavement had become soothing. He could no longer remember where he was half the time, always someplace in between it seemed, always just passing through. The names and faces of countless waitresses and motel clerks were blurry, and he craved a semblance of stability, if only for a while.

With another quick look at Dean, he could see that his older brother fully intended to enjoy his stay in New Junction any way he could. The girl was laughing, and her chest buoyed up nearly into Dean's face as she bit her lower lip suggestively.

Sam could not stop from rolling his eyes. This could take awhile.

With nothing better to do, he pulled the newspaper he had bought at the gas station from his back pocket. He had already scanned the front page, and now opened to the middle, instinctively looking for something noteworthy. After all, even if they slotted a vacation into their schedule, Sam knew from experience that evil didn't take holidays, didn't even believe in a day off, much less a prolonged hiatus. You could never be too prepared, and part of preparedness meant staking out the territory.

A light breeze suddenly came from nowhere, rustling the pages. Sam looked up. The day had been still and hot up to this point.

The breeze came again, and this time he heard it.

A distant whisper, barely louder than the crinkling of the paper in the breeze.

His eyes narrowed and the wind stopped again. Hesitantly he turned his eyes back to the paper.

This time it was undeniable and made him forget about the lackluster headlines for next week's town meeting. Stuffing the paper back into his pocket, he pushed away from the wall, following the direction of the breathless sound.

Instinctively, Sam made his way toward the woods, and the murmur seemed to swell. As he cleared the edge, a shudder raced through him and his heart rate increased.

There were more sounds, overlapping and of varying intensity, and he could feel them pulsing throughout his body, alerting every synapse.

The world seemed to skew and the foliage began to blur as he tried to sort through the whispers.

"Sam?"

He blinked, his world refocusing suddenly. He realized he had forgotten to breathe and inhaled a deep breath. He recognized Dean's presence without looking. "I…I thought I heard something."

"Right. Well, if you're done with your little nature walk, let's get settled in."

Sam nodded distantly as Dean made his way back toward the motel. Sam gave one last look into the still woods before following.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Much thanks to all who reviewed in chapter one! We'll see what mischief the boys get into in chapter 2...As always, thanks to geminigrl11 for the beta and more importantly for her patience and passion and love. She is the only thing that's keeping me going in more ways that I can ever express. Thanks for being the Dean when I needed it :)

**Chapter Two**

So far, "time off" had meant watching Dean try to entertain himself in the cramped motel room. His older brother had started by flipping through the meager selection of TV channels. When he'd exhausted them, pausing long enough to snicker at a documentary on the mating habits of elephants, he resorted to perusing the phonebook and laughing at the more unfortunate names.

Sam had tried watching TV with his brother, but his brother's frenetic and illogical viewing patterns made his head hurt, so he resorted to surfing the net instead.

The afternoon finally vanished into twilight, and Dean picked up the crusty motel room phone and dialed the garage. The conversation was short and forced, and Sam could see Dean's back was rigid with frustration.

When Dean hung up, he swore at the phone. The news wasn't good.

"They won't be able to tell me for sure until tomorrow," Dean said shortly.

Dean's attitude was so pouty, so juvenile, that Sam could not resist ribbing his brother. "You know, that thing gets terrible mileage," Sam said pointedly.

Dean shot him a warning glare.

"With gas prices on the rise..." Sam could barely contain his grin.

"Yeah, well, you may be cheaper to maintain but you're not nearly as useful, so don't keep talking, little brother."

**OOOOOOO**

The conversation with the mechanic had left Dean cranky, and the room had fallen into a sullen silence. But a John Wayne movie on TV finally nabbed Dean's attention, and he sprawled out, the remote resting just beyond his outstretched hand. He punctuated the movie with his own commentary, reflecting on the quality of acting, the storyline and, "Dude, this movie is hilarious. Did you see that guy get shot? Great effects."

Sam had started off nodding to his brother's quips, sometimes countering, but soon barely acknowledged his brother's comments. He had given up on the laptop and resorted to a book instead, but it made his eyes droop, and he shook himself awake several times before it all slipped away.

He vaguely felt Dean taking the book out of his hands and pulling off his shoes with as much care as he could manage.

" 'm not tired."

"Sure, you're not," Dean replied, pulling the blankets over his brother. "Just rest your eyes for a little bit, okay?"

Part of Sam wanted to protest again, wanted to resist, but he couldn't remember why he didn't want to sleep and resting just for a moment couldn't hurt.

**OOOOOOO**

_Drip._

_Drip._

Something was dripping on his forehead. He could feel it pounding into him with the force of bullet.

_No_.

He knew what it was, but he could not keep himself from opening his eyes, from seeing it again. _Jessica._

She was sprawled above him, her leg at an unnatural angle, her blonde curls plastered back by an invisible force.

_"Why, Sam?"_ the voice asked. She deserved an answer. Gutted and pinned to the ceiling, she deserved an answer.

But the fire erupted and consumed her, the flames licking away from her, stealing his breath.

The heat approached him next and he didn't fight.

Sam jolted upright in bed, his breath catching in his throat as he gasped for air.

_No._

His eyes adjusted and he realized there was no fire, there was no Jessica. He was in a motel room with Dean.

Sometimes it surprised him how real the dream was, how it took him back and gripped him, leaving him as broken as the night it actually happened.

When they had first left California, Sam had been continually haunted. The vision of her on the ceiling had been branded behind his eyes. But months had passed, and he'd had moments of reprieve, moments when he could remember the way she smiled, the sound of her laugh, the feel of her skin, rather than the look of horror on her face as she died above him.

But the memory always came crashing back, always revisited itself upon him as if to make him remember what he'd done, what he'd lost, what he had to make right.

It had been weeks since he'd last had the dream, and a twinge of guilt flashed through him. Maybe he had been lazy in his grief. He didn't know for sure if it was his fault, if the demon had been after him or something else, but he always knew that she shouldn't have had to die without knowing why.

He leaned back onto the pillow, letting his breathing even out.

He felt so weary, so drained. But the escape of sleep hardly seemed appealing. With a sigh, he reached for the remote. He flicked on the TV and turned the sound on mute, letting himself get lost in infomercials.

**OOOOOOO**

It was nearly eight when Dean heard the sound of water running in the bathroom. He groaned and rolled over, wishing again for the solace of sleep. He had been driving for days straight, and as much as he hated for his car to be in a body shop, it did him good to sleep on a flat and soft surface.

He had hoped it would be good for Sam too. His little brother had been so exhausted. When Sam had zonked out early, Dean had been more than a little relieved.

Burrowing deeper under the sheets, Dean attempted to salvage a few more minutes of blessed rest before Sam came out and discovered he was awake. His mind had just lapsed into a state of near sleep when he heard the bathroom door open.

Groaning, he cracked his eyes open to look at his brother. Sam was dressed, toweling his hair dry, looking clean but definitely not rested. Sam's eyes were open but bleary, and he seemed to be moving sluggishly. Dean scrunched his nose at him. "You look like crap, man."

Sam shot a perturbed glance at his brother. "Morning to you, too."

"Just saying. Didn't you get any sleep last night?"

Sam tossed the towel on the bed, shrugging as he sat down and reached for his tennis shoes.

Dean sat up in bed, eyeing his brother more critically. "Sammy?"

"A little," Sam said with a frustrated sigh as he tied his shoes.

"What's up with you?"

Sam's jaw was set. "Nothing."

"Nothing. Just a little insomnia to make the world go 'round," Dean commented dryly.

Sam said nothing but viciously pulled his shoelaces tight.

"Right," Dean said, rolling out of bed. "I'm taking a shower."

When he emerged, Sam was sulkily watching a daytime talk show. "Good TV?"

Sam ignored him, and Dean could not think of another quip to try to wrest his brother from his bad mood. He knew Sam hadn't slept, and the sudden regression of Sam's sleeping habits was already wearing on both of them. He had thought the days of sleeplessness and recurring nightmares had faded, slowly dissipated as time passed. But this recent trend seemed worse than ever.

Dean frowned as he collected his things, wondering if Sam was keeping something from him. After all, Sam had been pretty slow in telling Dean about his initial visions about Jess, but ever since they'd crossed that boundary, they had both taken the visions seriously. He couldn't think of a reason for Sam not to tell him if something was going on.

He eyed his brother surreptitiously as he dressed, deciding to keep a closer eye on him.

For now, though, their paths lay in separate directions.

"I'm heading over to the car shop."

"Okay. I think I'll look around town a little. See if there's anything going on," Sam said, sitting up and turning the TV off.

"Great. Meet you at the diner on the main drag in a half hour."

They exited the motel room together. "Remember, Dean, killing the mechanic won't make the car get fixed any faster."

"Yeah, well, if I had access to the parts and tools, I'd do it myself. Want to make sure those small town hicks don't screw up my car worse than it already is."

"I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Easy for you to say. _Your _car isn't cooped up in some shop with two mechanics who don't understand her."

"I don't have a car. And if I did, I would develop such an irrational attachment to it."

"You're just jealous," Dean said.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Right."

"It's okay, Sammy. Get some sleep and I'll let you drive her when we blow this town."

Sam let out an incredulous laugh and watched as Dean strode purposefully down the street. He shook his head, amused at his brother's determination. When Dean had his mind on something, he didn't let it go, and he was ruthless in his persistence.

Sam, however, did not have anything to be persistent about. The car was a necessity, but he knew it'd get fixed one way or another, and there was no pressing news story calling them across the country.

Besides, there were some things Sam wanted to look into himself. He could still feel the echoes from yesterday, resounding in him, and he shuddered involuntarily. He couldn't shake the feeling, this inexplicable, deep-rooted feeling, that something was off. He couldn't put his finger on it, not yet, and he had nothing more than suspicions to go on.

With a sigh, he headed out, his pace far less strident then Dean's. He only made it to the end of the parking lot when a wave of sleepiness passed through him, and he could not stifle his yawn. He would never make it through this day on his own.

The weariness that seeped through him was encompassing, and the café next door looked so convenient.

The small shop hosted a few customers, all seated at tables, chatting and reading newspapers. Sam wandered up to the counter, where a middle-aged man was leaned against it, flipping through a magazine. He smiled up at Sam with an avuncular grin. "What can I get for you?"

"Yeah, can I have a coffee? And a paper?" Sam asked, nabbing one from the stack on the counter.

The man nodded easily, moving lazily behind the counter. "You passing through, son?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "My brother and me--we needed a pit stop."

"Ain't much to do here, but it's quiet enough," he replied casually.

Sam smiled half-heartedly. "Any news about town?"

The man cocked his head as he fiddled with the machine. "News? You mean like the new curfew they're trying to pass?"

"Curfew?"

"For the kids. They try it every summer so they stop drinking out by the lake. Doesn't work," he said. "But not much is new. They're thinking of building a Phillips station on the other end of town, but old man Richards' doesn't want to part with his land. Been in the family for five generations, you know."

Snapping a lid on the cup, the man swung back toward the counter with a cordial grin. "Sorry, not much else to report, I'm afraid."

Sam took the coffee and blinked himself awake. "No, thanks, you've been a real help."

"That'll be $3.03," he said.

Pulling out his wallet, Sam paid the man.

The man behind the counter offered him the cup. "Have a good day, now," he said.

Sam smiled absently and turned to go.

A low voice filtered in his ears from behind. _Betrayer_.

Stiffening, Sam turned. "What?"

The man looked up from his magazine. "What?"

Sam narrowed his eyes but shook his head, moving to leave again.

_You are the betrayer_.

Sam turned again, quicker this time, but the scene was the same.

The man glanced up again and looked at him critically. "You need something else, son?"

"Did you…say something?"

The man looked perplexed. "No."

Sam nodded imperceptibly, and looked around the empty café. He turned uneasily toward the door and left.

Exiting the shop, he gave one last uncertain glance of his shoulder before taking a sip of his coffee. The hot liquid burned his tongue and he pulled the drink away from his lips immediately in frustration.

Shaking his head clear, he blew through the lid, and began his way down the street.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Really, I promise this is going somewhere...I ask for patience from indulgent readers. This is so out of the norm for my typical story that I am suffering from incredibly amounts anxiety as I publish these opening chapters. Thanks to those who have reviewed! And, geminigrl11 deserves more than thanks--she is the emotional backbone of this piece (and of my life half of the time!).

**Chapter Three**

Dean never thought he'd miss the greasy, too-young excuse for a mechanic he met yesterday, but as he rested his chin on his hands, propped up against the counter, he would have given anything to see his youthful gap-toothed grin.

The owner of the shop was greasy too, though he had less hair to show it. For what he lacked in hair, he seemed to make up for in weight, and his belly bulged under the threadbare jumpsuit.

The name embroidered on it said _Gene_ and clearly he was not the savvy professional Dean would have preferred.

"Well, we've checked the engine, and it could be one of the valves or it could be the exhaust system. We're going to test the electrical today." The man's laconic speech and unhurried movements made it clear that haste was not going to be a priority.

"So, in other words, you have no idea what the problem is." Dean bit the inside of his cheek, trying to rein in his growing temper, reminding himself that there was no other car shop for miles.

"Well, now, we've narrowed it down..." Gene drawled the words out, with no clear conclusion to his thought.

"Great." Dean pasted a fake smile to his face and made up his mind to haunt the garage like Casper. "You just keep me posted then."

Gene nodded benignly, and Dean headed to the diner.

**OOOOOOO**

The day was in full swing and the town was moderately buzzing with morning business. Milo's Diner, one of two restaurants in the town, had attracted the majority of the morning eaters. The diner was half full, populated by a few farmers, a handful of teens, and a pair of young mothers and their infants.

Sam had finished and discarded his coffee and was seated in a booth by the door. The sunlight beat through the windows, settling over him, and he felt himself stifle a yawn. He considered ordering another cup of coffee.

Before he could make a motion to the waitress, Dean strode in. He found Sam immediately and made his way to the booth.

"So?"

Dean slumped sulkily.

Sam eyed him quizzically. "That bad?"

"They have no clue what the problem is. 'Gene' is still running tests."

Sam could tell Dean was less than pleased with the progress that hadn't been made. If he'd been more awake, he would have taken advantage of the opportunity to tease Dean about leaving the care of his baby to a stranger. But it wasn't worth the energy.

"So we're stuck here another day?"

Dean sighed dramatically. "At least."

Sam let out a long and slow breath. "Well, guess we really could use the time to recharge our batteries."

"Whatever," Dean muttered picking up a menu. "Have you ordered?"

Crinkling his nose, Sam shook his head. "I had some coffee on the way over."

"Coffee, college boy, is not breakfast," Dean said, making eye contact with a roaming waitress.

The woman, in her mid-30s with her hair pulled in a messy bun, smiled wearily at them. "You two ready?"

Grinning broadly at her, Dean said, "Sure. I'll have the...Milo's Breakfast. With scrambled eggs."

She jotted it down before turning to Sam. "For you?"

"Just a coffee, thanks."

"Make that two Milo's Breakfasts," Dean interjected forcefully. "He likes his eggs overeasy."

Sam just rolled his eyes and the waitress glanced between them. When neither said anything, she shrugged and wandered off to the window.

"Dude, I can order my own breakfast."

"But you didn't."

"I'm not hungry."

"Right, so why can I hear your stomach growling over here?"

"My stomach's off."

"Because you haven't eaten more than a French fry in days."

Sam looked away but couldn't deny it. His eating habits had been deteriorating with his sleeping habits. Though he knew his stomach was empty, the thought of eating something made him queasy. Unfortunately, he was getting the feeling that Dean was becoming suspicious of his sleeping and eating. When Dean got into mother hen mode, Sam knew it was best to stop protesting and at least pretend to comply.

The breakfast was quick in coming, but the sight of the greasy eggs on the plate made Sam's stomach turn more than he had anticipated.

Despite Dean's threats, Sam ate little more than half a pancake and a forkful of egg.

"Dude, what's with you?" Dean finally asked. "Are you sick or something?"

Sam grimaced as hot coffee slid over his already scalded tongue. "I'm fine. Just not hungry. It happens, you know?"

Once again, Dean's eyes narrowed. Sam's excuses were pathetic; his brother wasn't even trying to effectively deter Dean's questions. Not that he could anyway--the continual companionship between the brothers made secrets nearly impossible to keep, especially when it came to daily routines. He had seen Sam through some difficult times, and they seemed to be headed that way again, only this time, Dean had no idea why. Whatever was going on with Sam, it was definitely starting to effect more than just his sleeping patterns. If things didn't change soon, he would have to resort to more drastic measures to make Sam take care of himself.

**OOOOOOO**

With nothing else to do, Sam and Dean caught an afternoon matinee at the movie theater, and found themselves as the only audience members, save two elderly women who sat three rows ahead of them.

Dean bought popcorn and tried to trick Sam into eating some, but his brother made it through the movie only ingesting a handful of greasy kernels.

Afterwards, the two brothers lingered outside the cinema. Sam squinted against the waning summer sun, feeling the tendrils of a headache blossoming in his skull. He tried to ignore it and focus on what Dean was saying.

"I think I'm just going to ask around a little," Dean said. "See if I can find someone with a life."

Sam merely nodded, and Dean cast him a worried glance. He tended to take his brother at his word, even when he knew his brother was fudging the truth. It was a family policy that had kept them from facing all kinds of uncomfortable topics.

"You sure you're feeling okay, Sam?"

Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose, hoping to alleviate the pressure. "Yeah. I just--I'm a little tired."

_That's the understatement of the year_. "You want to come with?" Dean asked.

Shaking himself, Sam forced his eyes open. "No. I think I'll just head back to the motel. Maybe lay down for awhile."

Part of Dean would have preferred to go with his brother--he didn't like the slightly pale hue in his brother's face--but he knew if he went back to the motel now he was likely to go stir crazy after an hour. If they were going to be stuck in this town for awhile, Dean needed to find some way to pass the time, because if he and Sam spent it all together, they would probably kill each other before the end of the week. Besides, Sam didn't need a babysitter, and the kid was actually volunteering to lay down. "Okay. Meet you back there in a few."

**OOOOOOO**

By the time Dean had disappeared around a corner, Sam realized he had forgotten to start walking. With a self-deprecating chuckle, he forced his sluggish body to move.

He only made it a few steps when a breeze tickled his face. He let his eyes close, the coolness refreshing his tired body. But the breeze brushed passed him as quickly as it came. When he opened his eyes, he was suprirsed to find a dog at his feet, a mangy looking thing with dirty brown hair.

He looked at it curiously before beginning on his way again.

The dog followed him, trailing a few feet behind him. He stopped, curiously, turning to face it. The dog stopped too, sat back on its haunches, and looked up at him expectantly. Sam almost smiled and started to move again, well aware of the dog trotting behind him.

Sam stopped again, moving closer to the dog this time, kneeling to examine it. But as he reached his hand out to ruffle its fur, its eyes flashed black and a vicious snarl escaped his mouth as he nipped at Sam's hand.

_Betrayer_.

Sam yelped and stumbled backwards.

He regained his composure and set to look at the dog again, but it was panting happily now, its tail wagging and tongue lolling from its mouth.

"Baxter!" a small voice called.

Sam watched, fascinated and dumbstruck, as a young girl in a sundress skipped toward him.

"Baxter," she said, looking sternly down at the mutt. "You're not supposed to get out of the yard. Mommy will be angry."

Sam stared.

She smiled at him. "Sorry. He didn't bother you, did he?"

She looked so happy, so peaceful, and her voice was so bright that Sam couldn't stop himself from nodding.

With a grin, she clipped a leash to Baxter's collar, and turned to skip merrily down the street.

Sam was almost convinced he had imagined it, but before the dog stood, its eyes flashed in darkness yet again. Sam gaped, his eyes wide, but the dog was up and following the little girl down the street.

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, wondering if perhaps he needed more sleep than he realized. Straightening, he turned back toward the motel.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Not much new to preface this chapter with, but I do want to thank those of you who continue to review. ANd thanks to geminigrl11, who is the most amazing beta, who can have a busy work week, try to move, write, AND beta my stuff all at once. That's multitasking and time management at its finest. Gem, I wish for you all the happy images of JP that are needed to survive this coming week, and when all has settled, I promise we'll break out the maypole and celebrate :)

**Chapter Four**

"Sam."

Someone was calling him.

"Sammy, what are you doing?"

Hazily, Sam realized he was nearly asleep. He realized a beat later that he was not on a bed and that he was not in a motel room. He startled to wakefulness.

Blinking against the sun, he managed to make out the form of his brother standing warily above him.

Dean's face was obscured by sunlight, but Sam could see the cock to his head that suggested an uneasy mixture of mocking and concern. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam said unconvincingly as he straightened.

"You know, we do get motel rooms for a reason, Sam. If you want people to think you're homeless, at least put a tin can beside you to see if we can earn a little extra cash."

Sam didn't acknowledge Dean's joke as he rubbed the tiredness from his eyes.

"I thought you were heading back to the motel."

"Yeah," Sam said, standing up uncertainly. "I was. I just--I just sat down for a minute. What are you doing here? I thought you were looking around?"

"Looked and then some, bro. It's been nearly three hours. You been sleeping on a park bench that whole time?"

Confused, Sam looked at his watch. His eyes struggled to focus on the small hands, his vision blurring and he realized he was swaying.

Dean caught his brother's arm, steadying him. "Dude, you okay?" he asked, forcing Sam to the bench again and following him down. He looked hard at his brother. Sam was more than a little off his game.

"Yeah," Sam said distantly. "Must be more tired than I thought."

Dean snorted. "That's what happens when you don't get any sleep for a few days," he said. Then he added pointedly, "And when you don't eat."

Sam ignored him, his brow creasing in concentration as a chill tickled his spine. "There's something weird about this town," Sam said.

"Yeah, they must be bored out of their minds. There's literally nothing to do here. Why couldn't the car have broken down someplace a little more…populated?"

"No, that's not what I'm talking about. Something _weird_ weird is going on."

Dean grunted in frustration. "As long as the car's out of commission, we're on vacation, bro. I thought you wanted some time off."

"I do, it's just--I can't explain it. Something feels off here."

Dean became moderately serious. "You been having premonitions?"

Sam shook his head, squinting into the sunlight. "No. Just...vibes or something."

Dean felt relieved. Sam's premonitions had been taxing on them both, and Dean did not relish the thought of another encounter with Sam's precognitive abilities. "Well, vibe this. I found quaint little pool hall just outside of town. Looks like a good way to earn some extra cash."

Sam didn't respond; he was still staring out into the park.

"Sammy? Earth to Sam," he called, but his words fell on deaf ears. "Plus I thought we could paint your nails, put you up in drag, and bring you along to distract the crowd."

Sam shook himself. "What?"

Dean shook his head with a low chuckle. "You know, for a college boy, you sure need to work on your listening skills a little bit."

"I'm just distracted."

"Ah, yes. Since there's so much to be distracted by in a town of 4,000."

"You really don't feel it?"

"Feel what? The sound of boredom on a Saturday night?"

Sam did not respond to Dean's sarcasm. "I think we should keep asking around. About the town, not just where the hot girls are."

"Whatever, Sammy. You can do whatever research you want while I clean up tonight, okay?"

**OOOOOOO**

They had been in worse places.

That was about all Sam could credit to the dingy pool hall. It was called The Pit, which Sam figured was about as apt a name as any. It sat on the highway, just beyond a trailer park. The neon sign burned starkly in the night sky, illuminating the whitewashed clapboard walls of the small building. Inside, things hardly looked any better. The place was tight and cramped, packed with tables, chairs, people, and alcohol. What it lacked in character, it made up for in spirit, because the jam-packed crowd seemed excessively jubilant.

Dean had started out the night at the bar, where Sam joined him, both nursing a beer. Dean had started his second when he jumped into the pool game on the lone table. The crowd was amiable, if a little rough around the edges.

Sam had taken up a table adjacent to the pool table, and spent it straining in the dim light to peruse their father's journal. If there had ever been anything suspicious in the area, his father would have kept a record of it. But his dad's notes on Utah were sparse and nothing fit the profile Sam was looking for.

Not that he knew what he was looking for. The only concrete evidence he had of strange happenings was his own experience. The whispers. The sensations. The dog.

Or had he dreamed the dog?

He rubbed his eyes and tried to remember back to this afternoon.

Looking up, he realized that Dean was no longer at the pool table. Scanning the area, he found his brother leaned in close to a girl at the bar. His brother seemed to be in fine form tonight, soaking up the atmosphere and eliciting the positive attention of the inebriated bunch that surrounded him.

He watched for a moment, half-amused, half-aggravated at his brother's...social skills. With a shake of his head, he turned back to his notes, but his eyes refused to focus and the words blurred in front of him. Another wave of fatigue washed over him.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, then rested his forehead against his palm. Maybe it was time to call it a night.

Looking up again, he searched for his brother, who seemed to have migrated with the crowd. He finally spotted him on the other side of what looked like a bachelorette party, judging from the number of young women congregated and drinking shots. With a deep breath, he managed to stand without wavering, before weaving his way slowly through the tables. The short journey seemed to take much longer than it should have.

"Dean," he said, pulling him away from the bar.

Dean smiled at the girls briefly before allowing Sam to pull his attention away. "Dude, what do you want?"

"I think I'm going back."

Dean was winking at the girl. "Back?" he asked, looking back at Sam. "What? It's early."

"I'm just not feeling up to it tonight."

"You never feel up to it," Dean whined. He had been patient with his brother, very, very patient, and he wanted just for once for Sam to loosen up for both their sakes.

Sam looked ready to protest, but sighed instead. "Look, whatever," he said. "I'm not asking you to come. I'm just letting you know that I'm heading back."

"You sure, Sammy? I mean, come on," Dean said, nodding back toward the girls.

Sam glanced at them and recognized the one from the motel. "Let me guess: Brandi with an i."

"Close. Her name's Candy. It's short of Candace," Dean said with a devilish grin.

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "Yeah. Anyway, I'll see you later."

"Much later, little brother," Dean said, moving back toward the bar.

With one last snort of laughter, Sam watched his brother move back toward the girl.

**OOOOOOO**

His body felt exhausted. Sleep may have been elusive recently but genuine rest had been nearly nonexistent. It seemed that every nightmare he'd ever had was coming back to him, entering his unconsciousness with a renewed vigor.

The neighborhoods were quaint, becoming more kept up as he distanced himself from the trailer park near the bar. Rows of two story homes stretched neatly down the way, complete with picket fences and front porch swings. The upstairs windows were open to the summer night, and the sound of crickets chirping filled the stillness.

Sam had always dreamed of a home like that on a street like this. The stately houses proclaimed stability, longevity, security—traits that were the antithesis of his childhood.

Jess had lived in a neighborhood like this, in a upscale suburb of Sacramento. Her father had mowed the lawn on summer nights and her mom tended the flowers in the beds along the front walk. Part of him had never believed people really lived that way, he didn't know how they could, but Jess had let him in on that life. When he first visited, he had been nervous, tentative, scared he would break some of the perfect normalcy they seemed so immersed in. But by the end of the weekend with the Moores, he had felt himself melting into their warmth, relaxing inexplicably into the hospitality of fresh baked cookies and barbecued chicken while lounging on the back porch in the waning afternoon.

She had wanted a life like that: the house, the kids, the yard. He had wanted to give it to her. He had wanted to give her safety and security and love in all the ways she needed and wanted and deserved.

Instead he had given her lies, half-truths, and an early grave.

He turned his gaze from the houses, ceasing his musings on the people who lived there and how happy they must have been. He kept his eyes trained on the uneven pavement, just wanting to get back.

Years of hunting and being on the road had made Sam attentive, if not a little paranoid. Their father always said it was better to be safe than sorry, and as much as Sam wanted to rebel against some of the things his father forced upon him, he could not deny the validity of his self-protection techniques.

He slowed his pace, and the hairs on his neck rose.

Insects buzzed, houses settled. Nothing moved.

Sam moved ahead slowly, his senses sharp. There was something there, there had to be, because it felt too real.

A whisper of wind passed through him and he stopped cold. Whatever it was, it was close.

_Betrayer_.

_Why, Sam?_

It was behind him. Stilling his shaking, Sam fingered the gun tucked in the waistband of his pants. Usually he didn't walk around armed, but his suspicions had been strong enough that carrying it made him feel marginally safer.

_Why did you betray me?_

Pulling the gun, he whirled, aiming it wildly behind him.

Blackness splayed before him and he could hear the lullaby of the cicadas in the warm night. There was nothing--no other sounds, no movement in the darkness.

He let his arms relax and his aim dropped.

Whatever was going on, he knew his lack of sleep was not helping him, and that pointing guns in quiet residential neighborhoods was probably not a good way to go about figuring it out. With a half-hearted, self-deprecating chuckle, he put the gun away. _I must be paranoid._

With a steadying breath, he continued his walk back at a brisker pace, his eyes more alert.

After all, his paranoia had rarely turned out to be wrong. He had written off the dreams about Jess as paranoia. Dean had tried to convince him that his vision about a car in Michigan was paranoia. He had thought that finding the cat under the car in Minnesota was paranoia. He had thought that Dean's sense about the car was paranoia.

But now Jess was dead, Max Miller had murdered his family, he had been abducted by a bunch of homicidal hillbillies, and they were stranded in the middle of nowhere with the Impala in the shop.

No, his track record did not suggest that paranoia was something he was prone to. But on his trek back to the motel, nothing leaped out of the shadows at him, and the hairs on the back of his neck stayed in place the whole way back.

When he finally got to the room, he was surprised to find how relieved he was. He shut the door behind him firmly, resisted the urge to use the chain, and leaned his back against it with a sigh. Maybe even psychics could just be paranoid.

He thought about taking a shower, but managed only to brush his teeth. He kicked off his shoes and contemplated taking off his jeans and shirt. The motel room was hot, and he suddenly realized he was sweating.

But as soon as he sat on the edge of the bed, he could not resist sinking into it.

With a sigh, he fell back onto the pillows. Tiredness weighed his limbs down and he felt the pull of sleep beckoning him. He let his eyes drift shut, and felt himself floating steadily toward oblivion.

But something tickled his senses and he jerked awake, sitting upright and staring into the darkened room.

A moment passed in stillness, no sound except the harsh breaths entering and exiting his body.

Logically convinced of his solitude, Sam let himself lay back down.

**OOOOOOO**

This place was familiar. The dingy, paint-peeling walls. The rusted equipment. The musty smell of decay and death.

The tang of something in his mouth, something in the air. _Blood._

He blinked. He recognized the face, knew the person who lay prone in front of him. Prone but defiant.

_"You hate me that much?"_

Sam didn't know the answer, didn't know what to say, but could feel the gun so comfortable in his hands, his aim so certain, so close—he couldn't miss.

_"Pull the trigger then."_

Sam shook, feeling his resolve crumbling. He wanted to defy, wanted to disobey the order that he knew wasn't right, but the anger, the need—it was overwhelming.

The face below him turned red—all he could see was rage, anger, hatred, failure.

_"Do it!"_

His will broke and he obeyed. With relish. _Once, twice, three times, four_.

His vision cleared in time to see Dean's face again. The disappointment.

_Betrayer._

He woke up to the sound of his own yell.

Panting, he trembled, the dream lingering in his mind.

He pulled the trigger. He always pulled the trigger. _Why?_

Sam's breathing had evened out and his heart rate had calmed, but he felt jittery and uncertain.

He couldn't do this. Not again. _Please, not again_.

This was a question he couldn't answer, a question he didn't want to answer, a question he couldn't even define but that demanded answers. His dreams asked it, over and over again, in different ways, but always the same question. _Why, Sam?_

Not sleeping was better than the dreams. With a sigh, he slid off the bed, making his way to the laptop. Turning it on, he rubbed his eyes and hunkered down, preparing for the long night ahead.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Glad to know some people are sticking with this! As for now, more strangeness to come. I love Sam angst in all forms along with the necessary Dean angst. If you've read my stuff, though, you already know that, so you should also know what to expect. I'm so rambling. Thank goodness I only have SIX days left until I am officially NOT a first year teacher anymore. As always, beta-ed by the unparalleled geminigrl11 who always knows how to save me from myself (I will not watch the show that cannot be mentioned--I won't!).

**Chapter Five**

It was nearly seven when Dean stumbled in. He attempted stealth, trying to will his legs to move fluidly, but he abandoned it when he saw Sam sitting in front of the laptop.

"You're up early," Dean commented, moving sluggishly to the bed.

Sam merely peered at him over the top of the laptop. "You're home late."

Dean laughed. "You should have stayed, Sammy. I'm telling you. You should have stayed."

Sam barely acknowledged him.

Dean flopped back onto the bed. "Just give me five minutes, bro, and then we'll head out and get some breakfast. Okay?"

With raised eyebrows, Sam watched as his brother relaxed on the comforter. Only seconds passed before Sam saw the even rise and fall of his brother's chest and knew he would not be waking up in anytime near five minutes.

He glanced at the clock. He could probably get in some research around town and be back before Dean even got up. It was better than staring at the computer--his eyes burned after his long night.

Once outside, the morning sun was glaring, seeming to find every metallic surface and reflecting into Sam's sleep-deprived eyes. He wished he had Dean's sunglasses for a moment, but instead squinted and moved ahead.

He had only made it a few feet when a yawn pulled through him, and he didn't try to fight the sudden, uncontrollable need for caffeine.

With a sigh, he made his way into the café.

**OOOOOOO**

The café was as close to deserted as it had been the day before, and Sam wondered fleetingly how it stayed in business. After ordering his coffee, Sam sat at a table, head in his hand, as he tried to piece together all that had been happening since they arrived in New Junction.

But his thoughts kept running in circles, and he could never quite remember what had been dreamed and what had been real.

A man paused beside his table, and it took a moment for Sam to look at him. They knew no one in town, aside from the oh-so-helpful garage staff, and he hadn't really expected anyone to be speaking to him.

The man gazed at him with an odd intensity, but Sam was too tired to fully notice.

The man, with closely cropped dark hair, stared a second longer, before cocking his head. "You passing through?" the man asked.

Sam nodded distantly. This was a conversation he was used to. "Yeah."

"But you stay not by choice," he said, his voice carrying a certainty that made Sam focus.

He studied the man, trying not to appear unnerved. "What do you mean?"

"You are not here by choice," the man said again, his eyes narrowing as he focused in on Sam. Then he offered his hand. "My name is Dominic."

Sam took the proffered hand slowly. "I'm Sam."

"Sam. Why are you here?"

"Our car broke down and we have to wait for the parts to come in."

Dominic leaned in. "I could sense you the moment you came to town. Your aura—it's like a beacon."

Uncomfortable, Sam shifted in his seat. _He could sense me? My aura?_ Nothing seemed to make sense.

"And this town—you've sensed this town since the moment you got here, haven't you?"

Sam stared at him, drawn in by the lure of information. "What about the town?"

"I don't know," Dominic said plainly with a noncommital shrug. "But I can tell you it's a new thing. This--whatever it is--has only come for the last few days. It's only come with you."

Sam tried to keep up with Dominic's vague answers. "What do you mean?"

"You need to be careful, Sam. It's everywhere."

Sam tried to contain his frustration. "What's everywhere?"

Dominic narrowed his eyes further, looked intensely at him for a moment.

Sam waited, attempting patience, hoping he didn't look as confused as he felt.

Finally Dominic sat back. "Here," he said, holding out a card. "In case you need anything."

Sam took the card, looking at it slowly. It was a simple card, just a name, address, and number. _Dominic Neville. 66 Enders Lane. (515) 555-7663._

He stood, looking down at Sam, an expression Sam couldn't read plastered on his face. "It's near you, Sam, and only you."

Sam's confusion mixed with a sudden foreboding that made him feel sick.

Dominic offered him a half-smile. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," Sam replied thickly.

Dominic turned to go. _Betrayer_.

Sam opened his mouth to ask him to repeat himself, to ask if he'd said that or heard it, but Dominic was halfway out the door before Sam could give the words voice.

**OOOOOOO**

Sam's stomach growled as he got out his motel room key.

Dean was up, lounging on the bed with the remote poised in his hand. "Where'd you go? Told you I'd be up in five minutes."

"Wasn't gone that long," Sam said, plopping down on the other bed.

Dean glanced at the clock. "Five hours? I've been out to breakfast and back."

Sam looked surprised. "Five hours? It can't be."

"It's almost noon. Didn't you think to leave a note? And turn on your cell next time. I don't want you wandering off where I can't find you. You don't have a good history around hicks in small towns."

Sam just kept staring at the clock in disbelief.

"Where'd you go anyway?"

"Just…exploring," Sam said distantly, trying to recount his steps. "Met a guy at the café."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I think he knows something. About this town."

"What about the town?"

"What's going on here."

"And what _is_ going on here?"

"I told you, Dean, something's off."

"Right, psychic boy," Dean said, his skepticism barely masked. "Your vibes."

Sam gave Dean a perturbed look. "I'm serious. The guy at the café said it had started suddenly, that it was new, but that it was real."

"Yes, and we believe everything that strange men tell us in small town cafés. Dude, we need something more than some guy's testimony and your vibes. Something concrete. We can't exorcise air." Dean hated to write of Sam's concerns so quickly, but his behavior was becoming more than slighlty problematic. He didn't want to admit just how worried he'd been when he couldn't contact Sam, and anger seemed to be the best way of hiding it.

"That's why we need to keep looking."

"We _have_ been looking, Sammy. No one--besides your weird psychic vibe guy--says anything strange is going on."

Leveling Dean with an irritated look, Sam said, "The only thing you've talked to the locals about is where to hook up."

Dean looked ready to protest but it melted to a grin. "You know, Candy said there's a swimming pool. Her friend, the little curly-haired one--she's the lifeguard. I figure I'll check on the car, and we get a little water-time in." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, but Sam didn't respond to it.

"I'm taking the EMF and sweeping the area. I'll meet you for breakfast."

"Lunch, Sammy. Lunch. You're skipping meals."

Sam let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine. Whatever. Lunch, then."

"No more than 20 minutes, Sammy. You look like you could use some food."

"Yes, mother."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Things certainly do seem...off for our beloved brothers :) Thanks to the reviewers, who make this story seem worthwhile as I go. Love and thanks to Gem, who knows all that she does for me, and who better be back online soon before I go out of my little mind (seriously, if the school year wasn't so close to being done, I think I'd quit because teaching Romeo and Juliet in 85 degree heat without air conditioning and 30 bodies in a confined space with a lawnmower roaring outside just isn't worth it some days). Anyway, onto the story!

**Chapter Six**

Dean tapped his finger impatiently against the Formica tabletop. He fiddled with the salt shaker, spinning it around, but always keeping his gaze on the front door.

A man in a suit came in, all rushed, and went straight to the counter.

Two teenage girls came in, smacking gum and giggling, and retreated to a corner booth.

But no Sam.

He checked his watch. Sam was supposed to be here an hour ago.

He pulled out his cell phone and considered trying Sam again. But the last three attempts had been fruitless. Sam's phone was off or dead.

The waitress refilled his cup of water and he offered her an empty grin, which she barely acknowledged.

The bell on the front door rang again, and Dean's eyes jerked up to see the tall figure of his brother coming through.

Dean didn't know whether to be relieved or angry.

"Where have you been?" Dean asked, his annoyance clear, as Sam sat down.

"Just down the street. There's a pawnshop. I saw some odd relics in the window, just wanted to check them out."

"Right. So when I said 20 minutes, you thought give or take an hour?"

"What?"

Dean shook his head. "Did you find anything with the EMF?"

"No. Place seems clean."

"So, what about these relics? Something going on with them?"

Sam glanced at the menu noncommittally. "I'm not sure. The old guy said some traveler had sold them to him. He couldn't tell me for sure where they came from or how authentic they were. But they looked Celtic to me. They had some strange engravings--some Gaelic. Once he found out I was interested though, he played them up and made the price way too high."

"Need to brush up on your bargaining skills, little brother."

Sam acted like he hadn't heard him. "I think we should ask around. See if anything strange is happening."

"I know," Dean said. "You told me that this morning."

"I mean, now. We should get going."

"Whoa, slow down there. We haven't eaten yet."

"Dean--"

"You're eating. _Then _we can research. Otherwise no deal."

Sam tried his puppy dog eyes.

But Dean could see the bags under Sam's eyes and the pale tinge to his skin. "We're eating."

Sam sighed, but sank back into the seat.

Sam ordered a meal, but was too fidgety to eat, too anxious to be bothered with food. When Dean was finally dragging his last French fry through his ketchup, Sam was sliding toward the edge of the seat.

"Let's get going."

"I've got to take a leak, okay? Then we'll go checking around to your freaky little heart's content," Dean said.

"Make it quick," Sam muttered, collecting his bag and the check. He stood and made his way to the counter, waiting for someone to come out and take the payment.

It was a kid who came out, no more than 18. "Did you enjoy your meal?" he asked with a friendly drawl.

Distracted, Sam glanced at him. "What? Yeah?"

The boy looked the bill over. "It's going to be $11.23," he said.

Absently, Sam pulled out his wallet, emptying a ten and two ones onto the counter. "Keep the change," he said.

"That's mighty kind of you, sir," the boy said. "You just passing through?"

"Yeah," Sam said distractedly.

"Strange place to stop at," the kid commented.

Something in the kid's voice made Sam stop. "What do you mean?"

"I'm sure you've felt it," the kid said. "No one talks about it, most people don't even feel it, but it just feels wrong here. Not all the time, mind you, but recently."

Sam's interest had been piqued. He leaned in closer. "What are you talking about?"

The boy's eyes narrowed and he leaned in too. "Like something's coming," he said in a hiss, his eyes darkening momentarily. "But you already know that. Betrayer."

Confused, Sam opened his mouth to reply, when a voice came from behind. "Dude, you paid it yet?"

Sam jumped and turned, finding Dean waltzing up behind him. "Yeah, I—"

"No one around to take it?" Dean asked.

"No, I—" Sam stopped. The bill was still on the counter with his twelve dollars. The kid was nowhere in sight.

"Well, leave it. They'll figure it out."

Sam opened his mouth to speak, to ask the question, but found himself unable to formulate the anything.

"Who were you talking to?"

"Just an employee."

Dean stared at the counter. "Where?"

Sam looked at the empty counter. "He was…" he began, confused. "He must have gone in the back."

With a skeptical glance, Dean eyed the counter and his brother again. "Whatever, dude."

Perturbed, Sam headed toward the door. "I'll take the library. You can have the police station."

**OOOOOOO**

"So?" Dean asked.

"So nothing," Sam said with a sigh. "No unusually violent, unsolved deaths. Nothing too mysterious--nothing's raising any flags. I'm thinking we're not looking at a haunting anyway. The effect seems to be too widespread and not nearly violent enough to be that straightforward."

"Right, well, nothing much from police records either," Dean said. "Some pranks recently, but just kids messing around. Can't blame them. They've got to make their own fun in a town like this."

Brooding, Sam's jaw clenched. "We have to have missed something."

Dean patted Sam's shoulder. "Maybe this time your vibes are just vibes," Dean said. "I've told you, your visions and stuff--freak occurrences."

"But--"

"But nothing," Dean insisted. "Look, we've done the research thing, now let's kick back and relax. If we have to be here, we might as well make the most of it."

"Right," Sam said sarcastically. "And what are we going to do here? Herd cattle?"

"Well, I don't know about you," Dean said slowly. "But I kind of said I'd meet Candy after her shift at the motel."

"Dean, come on."

"What? What else are we going to do? The town's clean. Don't know quite else to tell you. No mysterious police reports, no one's seen or heard anything. Unless you count how that cow ended up on the second floor of the high school. I'm sure that was an angry cow spirit come back to spite the man who killed his mother."

Sam continued to stare at his brother.

"It's not like I'm trying to ditch you," Dean explained. "You're dead on your feet, Sam. You look like a long stretch of bad road."

Sam started to protest. He understood his brother was protective, but Sam really did hate when Dean took to mothering him, as though Sam couldn't care for his own basic needs.

Dean didn't let Sam speak. He needed to get the issue out on the table and make Sam deal with it. Sam was and all-or-nothing kind of person, and when he was in something, he tended to lose perspective. He doubted his brother even realized just how haggard he looked. "The not sleeping, the not eating. It has to stop. Whatever's going on, that's not the way to solve it. Now listen--I've got to check on the car again before I meet Candy--they said they'd be ordering the parts today. And I'll do some asking around, okay? But only if you agree to crash for awhile."

"Dean--"

Dean was resolute. "I mean it."

Sam could see that Dean would not be flexible on this one. Trying to talk Dean down when he was in this mood was nearly impossible, and Sam doubted he had the energy to put up much of an argument. "Fine," Sam finally agreed. "But then you've got to lay off for awhile, you know? I'm a big boy. I think I can take care of myself."

Dean gaze was marginally affirming, but as he watched his brother retreat toward the motel, Dean wasn't so sure.

**OOOOOOO**

It was late when Dean finally made his way back to the motel. He'd checked on the car, only to find that the two valves had needed to be replaced and had to be ordered from Seattle. Much to his chagrin, Gene had guessed they wouldn't arrive for at least three days, and that installation would take at least another day.

Luckily Candy was in an unusually perky mood, and by the time he headed home, he was feeling much more upbeat. He could still smell Candy's perfume in his nostrils as he neared the motel, and wished for a moment that he had stayed longer.

He didn't have Sam's vibes, and he could sense nothing unusual about the town, but his younger brother's behavior still seemed to warrant his attention. Family before pleasure, he supposed, and from the looks of things, he'd have more than ample opportunity to spend time with Candy until the car was fixed.

He was quiet as he opened the door, hoping that he would find his brother asleep.

As the door creaked open, his hopes faded. The light was on and he could hear Sam shuffling around.

"Dude," he said, as he pulled the door shut behind him. "Aren't you going to get some sleep?"

The question went unanswered. He moved farther into the room.

Sam was clawing frantically through his bag, muttering incoherently.

"Sam?" he asked hesitantly, moving forward. "What are you doing?"

Sam showed no indication he heard his brother and continued throwing items violently to the floor.

"Sammy?" he asked again, concern edging away his hesitation. He stood, moving to his brother. "Sammy?"

His voice made no impression on the younger boy, and Dean could see Sam was pale in the dim room, his body jerking with exertion.

He grabbed his brother, a firm hand on his arm. "Sam!"

Sam was cold and continued his search despite the hindered arm. Dean felt his stomach churn. What was going on? Possession? Sleepwalking?

He tightened his grip and Sam's movement intensified, his muttering louder. "Find it…I've got to find it…Find it…"

Sam's voice was reaching a breathless pitch and Dean didn't know what to do. He grabbed his brother's shoulders, turning him forcefully toward him. He shook him. "Snap out of it, Sam."

Sam's eyes were open but unseeing. "It's hidden in the darkness. I have to find it—I have to—"

"Sam, stop!" Dean yelled now, giving his brother a violent shake.

But Sam twisted, trying to pull away. He thrashed against his brother, his lean from freeing itself from Dean's grasp and returning to its hysterical search.

Panicked, Dean fumbled after his brother, and they struggled together. Sam began to kick, his legs finding purchase painfully on Dean's shins. Desperate, Dean did the only thing left he could think of. Clenching his teeth, he let his hand form a fist and cringed as it connected with the side of Sam's head.

The blow made Sam stumble, and he reeled back against the bed. Dean immediately followed him, hoping the punch had been hard enough to wake Sam up but not too hard to cause any real damage.

He had Sam pinned as a precaution, but Sam's movements had stilled. He blinked once, twice, before his eyes focused on the face above him.

"Dean?" he asked slowly. "What…what happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

Sam looked confused and his brow knitted thoughtfully. "I had to find it," he said dimly.

"Find what?" Dean said, easing the pressure of his brother's body.

Sam made no attempt to move; he stared distantly past Dean's ear. "The gun. I had to find the gun."

"Why?"

Sam looked at Dean. "I had to find the bullets. Guns are no good without bullets, Dean."

"Sam, what are you talking about?"

"Don't you understand?" Sam sounded distressed. "It's coming. I don't want to be caught off guard. Last time you didn't put bullets in the gun, but this time we need to."

"Sam, I think you need to get some sleep, buddy," he said apprehensively, sitting back on the bed. Sam wasn't making any sense.

Sitting up, Sam looked at him with wide eyes. "No," he insisted. "Please, Dean. We need to be ready."

It took all of Dean's resolve to stay calm. With effort, he kept his voice even and stern. "Sam, I don't know what you're talking about. You're acting crazy. I think this will all be better once we both get some sleep."

"But—"

"No, buts, Sammy. You're sleepwalking and can't tell the difference between dreams and reality. A little more and you'll be ready for a straightjacket."

Sam looked hurt.

Dean softened. "You haven't gotten a good night's sleep in days and you know it."

"The dreams…"

"Are just dreams. You've had them before. I can hear what you mumbled in your sleep; these are nothing new."

Dean's words filtered slowly through the haze of Sam's brain and suddenly made sense. "Yeah," he said.

Seeing his opening, Dean seized it. "Let's get you back to bed."

Part of Sam wanted to protest, didn't want to sleep, knowing that the refuge so many found there would not be so welcoming for him. But Dean's words were so gentle, his actions so firm, that Sam could not stop himself from being herded back toward the bed.

"We can talk about this in the morning, you know," Dean told him quietly. _We WILL talk about this in the morning._

"I can't sleep, Dean," Sam tried to explain.

"Yes, Sam," Dean replied plaintively. He was tired of running in this circle of logic. "You can. You're going to kill yourself if you don't start getting some rest. You'll feel better when you sleep," Dean explained.

He barely felt Dean take him by the elbow and all but push him into bed, his knees bending more than willingly.

Sam seemed to want to resist, so Dean kept a hand on his brother's shoulder, forcing Sam to lie down. He pulled the comforter over him and Sam tossed, trying to get comfortable.

Sensing Sam still needed some kind of affirmation, Dean offered him a half-truth. "Tell you what, you sleep, and I'll keep watch, okay?"

Sam's eyes started to drift closed, his body's demands overriding his fears. He managed to breathe out a "thanks" before his head turned into the pillow and he was asleep.

Dean sat by him for several long minutes, trying to quell his own worries. He would never admit the depths of his concerns to Sam, especially not when Sam was so unhinged as it was. But he couldn't fight the unnerving fact that Sam was acting progressively stranger. "What is going on with you, Sammy?"

Sam turned restlessly in the bed, flopping on his side, but he didn't wake.

Dean patted him on the shoulder, willing him to stay asleep. He had to cling to the hope that everything _would_ be better if Sam just got some sleep. Hesitantly, he went over to Sam's bag and recollect his brother's things. He came across Sam's gun, the one they hadn't left in the lock box in the trunk. He kept it out and zipped in the rest of the messy contents. The last thing he wanted was to worry about Sammy sleepwalking with a loaded gun. He'd lock this back up in the car tomorrow when he checked on it.

He sighed, sitting back down on the bed. He spent the better part of the night true to his promise, perched on his own bed, watching as Sam tossed and turned.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Okay, so I know I just posted not long ago but with travel plans, I wanted to get this out sooner as opposed to later, especially as it's finally getting into the more action-based part of the story. As always, the reviews make my day, and so much thanks and credit goes to my fearless beta who truly appreciate Sam in all his Sam-ness and who understands that a limp Sam is the best Sam EVER. Seriously, people, LIMP SAM. If you need an explanation, I will be happy to provide one. Right, so, onto the story!

**Chapter Seven**

Sam seemed slightly better rested the next morning, and Dean felt relieved. Neither spoke of the sleep-walking incident, both hoping, for different reasons, that the other had let it go and that it would disappear into the void of unspoken topics that lingered between them. Dean headed back to the garage for his daily car update, and Sam had offered a vague plan to take another walk around town.

They met back at the motel just before noon.

Sam seemed excited, pulling the door back before Dean had a chance to pull his key out of the lock.

"I went back to the pawnshop. Get this. They're gone. Those Celtic relics."

"So someone's been shopping. Big deal." Dean tossed his key on the table and folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the dresser.

Sam's eyes flashed. "You don't think it's just a little coincidental? I mean, my interest, then, just like that, they're gone?" Sam accentuated his words with jerky hand movements.

"Sam, they were trinkets in a pawnshop--"

"What if they're idols—some sort of tie to a god or demon or something."

"But they're in a pawnshop. To have power, usually they have to be in some sort of shrine, have someone paying homage to them. Can't do much harm on a shelf gathering dust."

"Sure, so maybe they're dormant. Maybe the thing's just lurking, waiting for someone to awaken the power. Which is why they're gone now."

"I don't know. What would wake them up? Why now? Why you?"

The question stopped Sam. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Maybe…maybe psychic tendencies could have sparked it. This is a small town—maybe they haven't been in contact with anyone with abilities since coming here."

Dean pushed off the dresser, moving closer to his brother. "That junk is a fluke, Sammy. You don't get them all the time. And what about your vibe guy?"

"Fine. You have any bright ideas?"

"Yeah, just one. Not everything's a job. While the car's out of commission, let's just take it easy. We have enough trouble without looking for it."

Sam sunk into a chair, sulking.

"Can't you just let go a little, Sammy? Have some fun?"

"I just think there's something going on here and you can't focus for five minutes to have a serious discussion about it."

"Maybe if there were something worth investigating—"

"What do you think I'm trying to tell you?"

Dean's exasperation was evident. "Has anyone died?"

"No."

"Are there any rumors of mysterious sightings, disappearances?"

Sam stuck his chin out defensively. "No."

"Has there been any EMF activity?"

"No." Sam's voice was low.

"Have you had a vision?"

"No."

"Exactly. See? You're grasping at straws, Sammy. Avoiding the fact that you simply do not know how to have fun anymore."

Sam's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I wish you would have at least looked at the relics."

Dean groaned.

"I just--I don't know, Dean. I can't shake this feeling." He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, staring up at Dean beseechingly.

Sam sounded so desperate, so uncertain, Dean could not crack a joke. With a sigh, he asked. "Where's this pawnshop anyway?"

Hope flickered through Sam's eyes. "Right at the end of the street from the diner. Three story building. Can't miss it."

"Maybe I'll get down there sometime and have a talk with its fine owner. See if he can...remember what happened to those relics."

"Really?"

"Sure," Dean replied easily. "Not like we have much else to do."

Sam said nothing, but the grateful look in his eyes was enough.

"But first," Dean said with a grin, "There's a pinball machine in the general store. I think we may need to break a record or two before we get down to business."

Sam rolled his eyes, but followed his brother.

**OOOOOOO**

Three hours and nearly 20 dollars later, the Winchester boys found themselves back in Milo's Diner, looking over the same grease-stained menus in the same booth by the door.

Sam, his spirits high from Dean's half-promise to look at the pawnshop, appeased his brother by ordering a burger and a shake, which he poked at half-heartedly. Dean devoured his chicken sandwich and had flirted with the new young waitress who waited on them today.

"Dude, you better finish that," Dean said as he chewed the last of his French fries.

"I'm full." He moved around the pieces of his lunch, hoping that it would look like he had eaten more than he had.

"Like hell," Dean snapped, easily seeing through his brother's attempt at subterfuge. "We're paying good money for that, and you're eating it. You know how many pool tables I had to hustle to pay for that?"

"We could part time jobs while we're here."

Dean grinned. "But then that wouldn't be much of a vacation now, would it?"

"We're only here because the car broke down."

"So? Seizing the moment. And this town, despite its size, does offer some small attractions."

"Yeah, all the good looking motel hostesses and waitresses you can ask for, right?"

Dean could not contain his smile. It felt good to hear Sam bantering with him again, offering his inanely _normal_ suggestions for passing time and earning money. "You're still eating that."

Sam sighed, withdrawing emotionally again. "I'm telling you, I'm not hungry."

"You're going to eat that or I'm going to open your mouth and force it down your throat."

Frustrated, Sam made a show of taking a bite of his burger. "What's the big deal, anyway?" He was tired of being treated like a five year old who had to be reminded to eat his vegetables.

"The big deal is that if you could skipping out on meals, Sammy, you're not going to be able to hold your own when it counts."

"We're on vacation."

"Doesn't mean we're letting up on the training," Dean said. "Maybe we should try some sparring later."

"Right. Now that's my idea of a good time."

"You just know I could take you."

"Whatever."

"Yeah, whatever, Sammy, you know it's true."

"Dude, I'm not having this argument with you."

"Wuss."

Sam glared at him and took another bite. "Can we leave yet?"

Dean studied the plate and looked critically at his brother.

"Forget it. I'm going to the bathroom. Pay the bill," Sam said, scooting out of the booth.

"Chicken," Dean called after him. He snarfed down one of Sam's untouched fries before making his way toward the cash register.

**OOOOOOO**

Sam's gait suggested that he was more together than he felt. In truth, the continued effects of sustained lack of sleep were still having a profound effect on him. One night had not made up for it. In fact, he felt even groggier now than he had the day before.

The last thing he needed, though, was Dean's watchful eye keeping track of everything he did. But the illusion of acting normal was draining.

When he got into the bathroom, he let his facade down, leaning hard against the sink. He looked up and studied his reflection in the mirror, taking in his bruised eyes and the peaked cast of his skin. _No wonder Dean was worried._

He bent to wash his hands and then turned the water to cold, splashing his face to try to rid himself of the tiredness he was still feeling.

When he stood up, white spots danced in his vision and he had to grip the edge of the sink to keep himself upright. He swallowed reflexively, willing himself to relax. It took a moment, but then his body seemed to comply.

He pushed open the door just as the bells of the diner's entrance chimed. He looked over to see a thin, balding man walk inside.

And then he heard it.

_Betrayer._

Sam stopped, stiffening before letting his eyes follow the man walking toward him.

_You cannot resist._

There, in the waistband of his pants. It glinted as he moved, his shirt sliding up just over the handle.

The gun. He had a gun.

His heart thudded against his chest. He didn't know what it was, what it wanted, but it was the voice, the one that stalked his dreams.

The man was approaching him.

_Betrayer_.

The hiss made him freeze.

Sam opened his mouth to speak, to ask the question, but as he met the man's black eyes, his low and deadly voice answered it before he could speak. "Try to stop me. Betrayer."

Sam felt the twitch, watching the world slip by in slow motion, but still speeding faster than he could keep up. The activity of the diner pulsed behind him, the trivialities melting in a distant cacophony he felt separate from. Innocents. Everywhere. Eating lunch. Serving plates. Taking orders.

The man's hand reached, finger gripping the metal, and a smile spread wide across his teeth. The eyes threatened darkly, leaving no doubt as to his motives.

There was a little girl in a booth, her blonde hair glinted in the sunlight streaming in from the window. There was a group of businessmen, in ties and jackets, their briefcases lined up at their feet. There were two old women, leaned forward over tea, chatting as they mopped up the crumbs on their plates with biscuits.

_No_.

Sam screamed—what he said, he didn't know, he could never remember—and flung himself forward.

He attacked with speed and agility, his motions trained and unconscious. The man went down, but Sam could hear him laugh, see him smile, and Sam knew it wasn't safe. A demon would never be sated with a punch.

"Sam!"

The voice sounded insistent, echoing eerily.

"Sam, stop!"

And hands pulled him away, yanked him so hard he stumbled, nearly taking them both down.

He thrashed. The threat was still there—didn't they understand? The laughter welled, reverberating demonically.

"Sam! Stop it!"

_Dean_, he thought, he knew, just before his legs gave out and things faded to black.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Okay, so what is Sam _doing_ in that last chapter? Let's find out... But before we do, a shout out to those reading and reviewing and as always to Gem, who alone is my sanity until this week is over and I am officially student-free for the summer!

**Chapter Eight**

Dean had just made the waitress giggle at the counter when he saw Sam exiting the bathroom out of the corner of his eye. Just as he turned to the girl to make his move, the sudden blurring movement of Sam's shirt distracted him. He looked toward his brother in time to see Sam lash out, squarely hitting another patron.

His first thought was for Sam's safety, but Sam was already on top of the man, pummeling away despite the man's clear submission. He did not doubt Sam had his reasons, but if his brother killed a business man in public, he would end up in jail, no matter what supernatural cause he had.

He was moving before he could think. "Sam!"

The man was flailing, pathetically trying to protect himself, and Sam's onslaught was vicious.

"Get him off me!" the man screamed.

Dean pulled at Sam, hoping to disentangle him before the other patrons took a swing at his kid brother. More men were rushing to help.

"Sam, stop!" he screamed again, but Sam seemed oblivious, bucking Dean's hold as they tripped backwards.

"What's his problem?" someone asked.

Another went to the fallen man.

"Sam! Stop it!" he tried again, ignoring the steadily aroused crowd.

Sam slowed and Dean sighed. His relief was short lived as Sam went unexpectedly slack in his arms.

He barely had time to brace Sam, and they both went down. Dean managed to soften Sam's boneless fall and cradle his limp brother awkwardly, too aware of the eyes drilling into him.

The crowd murmured in curiosity, worry, and anger. Dean tuned them out and focused on his brother. "Sammy?"

The other patrons would not be ignored. "What happened?"

The man Sam had struck was standing, nursing his cheek and a bloody nose. "The punk attacked me. For no reason."

"Yeah. Just went after him," another affirmed.

Dean looked up, his eyes flashing defensively. "Sam wouldn't do that."

"Like hell he wouldn't. We saw it. That's assault."

Dean did not like where this conversation was headed. He needed an escape and fast. With Sam out, he wouldn't be much good at making a run, but the unconsciousness offered another viable option. "Kid's suffering from a concussion," Dean said tersely. "We were in a fender bender this morning. Smacked his head."

"So?"

"So," Dean snapped. "Erratic behavior is a complication. He must have been released too early."

"Doesn't give him the right to go off."

"He didn't mean it, okay? It's not like him. I'm worried something's seriously wrong," Dean said, his voice hitching skillfully. He sought out the women in the crowd. "He just passed out." Dean didn't have to feign worry, but he knew how to play up the strengths of his story.

"Should I call an ambulance?" the waitress was kneeling next to him, touching his shoulder softly and gazing into Sam's face. "He looks awful."

Dean felt relieved. Her belief swayed the crowd. "He does look pretty pale," another said. delete "Sweating too."

Dean looked down and his stomach dropped, his temporary relief at being out of an assault charge fading. Sam was ghostly pale, drawn, dark circles under his eyes. And a sheen of sweat glistened on his face. "I got him. I think—"

"Honey, you shouldn't mess with head injuries."

Sam groaned, moving slightly in Dean's arms. Part of Dean was thrilled to see the response, but he hoped Sam's consciousness wouldn't blow the shoddy cover.

The crowd moved in, still watching to see the younger man's response.

Sam's eyelids fluttered, searching wildly as they opened. He came to full consciousness with a start, jerking in Dean's arms.

"Whoa, slow down, Sammy," Dean said softly, keeping his grip on his brother firm.

Sam blinked rapidly before his eyes focused on his brother's face. "Dean?" His voice was breathless.

"Yeah, kiddo. I'm here."

Sam was trembling. "What…what happened?"

"Took a fall, little brother," Dean replied. "How are you feeling?"

Sam glanced around, searching his surroundings. "I'm…I'm okay," Sam said, his voice shaky.

Dean was not convinced, but let Sam push weakly up from the floor. As Sam rose, he steadied him, watching him carefully.

Sam experienced a brief moment of disorientation before he seemed stable on his feet.

"Is he okay?" the waitress asked, moving closer again.

Dean was about to say, yeah, when Sam pulled away from him suddenly.

"It's him," Sam said, staring down the man he attacked who was now holding a bag of frozen peas to his swelling face.

The man glanced at his friend. "Look, kid, I don't want any trouble—"

"He—he had a gun," Sam said, reaching a hand out to brace himself against a booth.

The man rolled his eyes. "I don't have to sit here and take this."

Sam shook his head. "No. I saw it. He was going to—I couldn't—"

Dean glanced nervously at his brother. He wanted to believe Sam, to trust him. But he looked again at the man, donning a suit over his pencil thin body. His hands looked soft and white and his scalp reflected the light. He grinned out at the crowd. "Okay, Sam, let's just go lie down."

"The kid attacked me—" the man was getting irate.

"Maybe I should call that ambulance," the waitress said again.

Sam looked at his brother, saw the doubt in his brother's eyes. "Dean…"

It was a plea, a yearning to for acknowledgment. But Dean could not see how this man posed any threat, could not see any reason for Sam to attack him. He knew Sam had his reasons, that Sam probably had seen something, but that wasn't something to discuss in front of the crowd. The wild look in Sam's eyes was unfamiliar, and his brother looked nearly on the verge of collapse--again. "It's okay, Sammy," he whispered. "Let's go."

A moment of protest crossed Sam's face, but it was silenced by the somberness of Dean's face. Then his face fell, a look of defeated betrayal breaking over him. He allowed himself to be moved toward the door, the resistance gone from him.

The crowd, fully convinced of Sam's instability, let the brothers pass without a word.

They made it halfway down the street, Dean's hand still firmly on his arm, before Dean finally stopped his brother and looked at him, his face serious. "What went on back there?"

"I…he had a gun," Sam said, but his voice was quiet, uncertain.

"You don't just hit people for carrying guns, Sammy. It's backwater Utah. People carry guns here. Anyway, you don't just go off like that in public."

Sam's forehead creased in concentration. "He was going to use it, Dean. I saw him reach for it."

Dean wanted to believe him, wanted to take Sam at his word, but the behavior had been so erratic, so extreme. "Sam…"

"You have to believe me. I wouldn't—I mean, I would never just go off."

"So how do you explain it?"

"His eyes--he was possessed."

"Possessed? Sam, I saw the guy. He looked completely normal."

"Dean, I saw it. It was real."

"Sam, that guy has never held a gun I his life. And there were no signs of possession. Did you say Christo?"

Sam didn't take to Dean's logic. "You don't believe me?"

Dean hesitated. Maybe if the guy hadn't been so pathetic looking. Maybe if the place hadn't been so crowded. Maybe if Sam hadn't collapsed afterwards. Maybe if Sam didn't look so fragile. "Sam—"

"After all of this," Sam said. "After everything, you don't believe me."

"Sam, I know you saw something, okay? I know you believe what you saw. But, Sam—you haven't exactly been on your game lately. You've been sleepwalking, disappearing on me, not sleeping, and then you go off on some pencil pusher in a diner over lunch? You're not a hit-first-ask-questions-later kind of guy, Sammy."

Sam looked desperate, his eyes beseeching for some kind of understanding. "Dean…"

"Sam…"

"Please…"

Dean averted his brother's eyes. The desperate look in Sam's eyes threatened to weaken his resolve. "You need to get some rest, Sammy. Some real rest. Some real food."

There was no reply.

When Dean looked back up, he could see the defeat on his brother's face. His voice was soft. "Let's get you back to the motel."

Sam's chin wavered and his eyes were bright. His shoulders were slumped and he seemed to be barely standing.

"Sam?"

Sam blinked, swallowing with effort. "Yeah."

**OOOOOOO**

Sam had given in to Dean's near-order that he lay down and get some rest, recognizing the concern that laced his brother's angry tone and filled his flashing eyes. In truth, Sam was eager to escape from the events of the day--and from the knowledge that Dean hadn't believed him. That had been more painful than anything, that Dean had dismissed Sam's explanations, blaming them on fatigue and poor nutrition. He knew Dean hadn't meant to hurt him, but to have Dean look at him in that _pitying_ way, as though Sam were someone to be comforted and helped, like some victim of one of their hunts...that had stung more than Sam cared to admit.

So it was actually a relief to burrow into the covers, his back to his brother, and pretend that Dean's disbelief hadn't started to undermine his own confidence in himself. It wasn't something they talked about--it wasn't something they needed to talk about--but they were each other's foundation. If Dean was truly starting to doubt him, how would he possibly have faith in himself?


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **WHEEE! Guess what? After a work day tomorrow, I am DONE for the summer! I am in a state of giddiness! But, right, the story, which is why I write author's notes...I love that some of you are speculating! I can't say anything, though, but sitting here holding my tongue is really hard! Things should pick up a bit now. Thanks to those who review and make me all giddy and to Gem for being so wonderfully optimistic and awesome and so brilliant at making Sam LIMP. So without any further ado, the next chapter...

**Chapter Nine**

The rest of the day passed in tense silence. Dean refused to leave Sam alone, but Sam refused to sleep. He laid down on the bed, turned his body away from Dean, but wouldn't close his eyes, and Dean had to restrain himself from taking to desperate measures. Exhaustion would catch up with Sam, he figured, and if he kept his brother locked up in the motel room, he wouldn't have many other options but to sleep eventually.

They didn't speak and hardly met each other's eyes, each afraid of what they might find there.

That had been their policy with most things: ignore and hope everything uncomfortable went away. Dean had never been a touchy-feely kind of guy, and emotions were things he felt but rarely gave voice to. Whenever he tried, he found there were never any words, that his throat seemed too tight, and Sam knew it all anyway. So it didn't seem entirely necessary to sit down and talk it out, especially when denial seemed to get them so far.

Besides, what would they say this time? Neither knew what to be sorry for or exactly why they were upset. The conflict had not exactly exploded to a full-blown fight. In fact, neither of them really knew at all what was going on, just that they had a problem that definitely needed to go away.

Dean figured most of the battle was getting Sam's body to succumb to its sleepiness and that Sam wouldn't have that look in his eyes when he woke up again. He could wait out Sam's stubbornness until then.

Sleep had a cleansing effect for them. Sleep had erased Sam's actions at the asylum. Sleep had dampened their fury against each other when Sam left for California instead of Indiana as their father had instructed. Sleep had made watching their father disappear after Chicago less of a heartbreak.

Neither brother was foolish enough to believe that sleep actually healed anything, but both relied on it enough as their means of escape, their way of starting over. Sleep let the pain of the day become a memory, fuzzy and distant, sometimes lingering, but never with clarity. Right now, sleep was the only solution.

Still, Sam dreaded sleep more than he did his brother's admonitions, and he resisted unconsciousness with all he had in him.

It was still early when Dean made a point of readying himself for bed. "Time to turn in for the night," he said as he laid himself into the bed.

Sam said nothing.

Dean sighed. "Sammy, things will be better in the morning. Trust me, okay?"

Sam didn't move, didn't acknowledge his brother at all.

Giving up, Dean turned off the light, hoping the darkness would lull his brother into sleep,

**OOOOOOO**

He couldn't breathe.

As he flailed for air, he looked up, searching desperately for his answer.

And he saw his brother's face.

"You abandoned me."

Sam tried to shake his head, tried to deny, but nothing got out his throat.

"Betrayer."

Dean's hands were around his throat, squeezing, tightening, and Dean's body pinned his own. His struggles were futile.

Dean leaned in, pulled his face close to Sam so his fading eyes could see. "You are the betrayer."

Everything buzzed, everything hurt, and then everything was black.

Sam blinked wildly, taking a gasping breath, then another, a hand to his throat and he realized he could breathe.

He blinked again. A nightmare. It was just a nightmare.

He let out a relieved sob, letting himself relax into the pillow.

_Betrayer_.

Sam stiffened, trying to convince himself he imagined it.

_Betrayer. You cannot run._

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, willing it to be another dream.

_Betrayer._

Sam trembled as he pushed himself off the bed. The darkness was suddenly disconcerting and he groped desperately for the bathroom. Once inside, he closed the door and turned on the light, willing the voice to vanish with the darkness.

For a moment, he considered waking Dean, trying to explain the voice to him.

Then he laughed a short nervous laugh. Dean already thought he was unhinged; telling him he was hearing voices would not help matters.

_Betrayer_.

Sam jumped, turning to find the source of the voice, but seeing nothing but generic stained tile.

_Betrayer_.

He spun again, finding himself back toward the mirror, alone in the empty bathroom. He was panting now, his breath coming in tight gasps. "Who's there?" he finally ventured.

A host of whispers began to rise, filling the bathroom.

_Betrayer._

"No…" he protested, backing up. But there was nowhere to go. His eyes searched frantically, hoping to find the source, hoping to figure out what was after him. Coldness began to seep into his body.

Sam's eyes darted to the mirror and he opened his mouth to scream when he saw the dark figure poised behind him.

But the whispers stole his breath and robbed his ability to think and he felt himself falling before he could stop it.

**OOOOOOO**

A light breeze fluttered over him, rippling coolly over his face and arms. Slightly roused, Dean shifted to his side, curling back up in the refuge of sleep.

The faint sound of a whisper tickled his mind, and he almost attributed it to sleep, to the beckoning of a dream, but it lilted with the breeze.

He came awake when he remembered that he never slept with the windows open.

His eyes pierced the darkness. He studied the walls, the cheap motel room art, the rickety furniture.

Nothing.

He let his gaze fall to Sam's bed and his heart caught in his throat. The sheets were rumpled, half flung off. The bed was empty.

He was out of bed instantly, flicking on the light. "Sammy?"

Hurriedly, he searched the floor, finding no signs of his little brother.

There was a small hissing, an unintelligible muttering from behind the bathroom door, which was slighlty ajar. He edged closer.

"Sam?"

His hesitance to invade Sam's privacy abruptly ended when he was a flash of movement and heard a loud thump.

He maneuvered the door open, with care that belied his haste, squeezing in and kneeling beside Sam's fallen form.

It took his stunned brain a moment to realize that Sam was convulsing, tremors ripping through Sam's body, jerking it roughly against the contents of the cramped room. His head twitched sideways, hitting against the tub repetitively.

"Sammy…." Dean's voice was no more than a breath as he hovered over his brother, trying to figure out what to do.

His panic paralyzed him for a only a moment before he sprang to life. He pulled at the towels on the towel rack, rolling them up and placing them near Sam—not close enough to constrict him but enough to protect his body from the walls, the tub, the toilet. He grabbed his cell and dialed the three numbers with shaking fingers.

"9-1-1. What is your emergency?"

"My brother. He's having a seizure." His own voice sounded foreign and saying the words aloud made his own chest hitch with fear.

He gave the rest of the required information, still kneeling by Sam's side. His own shakinesss increased as Sam spasmed uncontrollably.

The operator was talking, asking question, offering vague reassurance, but Dean couldn't hear her, couldn't hear anything over the sound of Sam's body against the tile.

He had just hung up when Sam finally stilled. He placed a hand at Sam's neck, frantically searching for a pulse. It was faint, so faint, but it was there. He had to put his ear almost on top of his brother's nose, but he was rewarded with the shallow pull of Sam's breaths.

"Come on, Sammy," he muttered and placed an unsteady hand on his brother's cheek. Time seemed to stretch so slowly and Sam's complexion seemed to gray considerably with each passing minute before he heard the wail of the approaching ambulance siren.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** ACK! What am I doing to the brothers? I really do ask myself that question often...just a reminder on this next one--I teach high school language arts. Medicine is not my thing. So when I write hospital scenes, you can bet I'm basing it on some melodramatic moment in ER. This chapter comes curtesy of geminigrl11's amazingness as a beta. And this chapter is up early for JJ Phoenix, who is amazingly awesome, and is the first person to attempt joining the prestigious SFTCOL(AR)S. Which totally made my day and Gem's! Information regarding SFTCOL(AR)S can be found on my bio :)

**Chapter Ten**

Sam felt his body bouncing.

"Sammy?"

_Dean?_ He felt himself jolt again.

"Are you awake?"

It was then that Sam realized his eyes were open and he was staring up. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sam."

He could hear the relief in Dean's voice. His eyes took in the closed space, the equipment, the man in the uniform standing at his side, finally his brother, who was watching him intently. "What happened?"

"You passed out, little brother."

"Sam?" the man on the other side was talking to him. "Can you look at me, please?"

It slowly occurred to Sam that he was in an ambulance. His eyes wandered back to the EMT.

"Good," the man said. "Follow the light."

Something bright was shone into Sam's eyes and he squinted, trying to turn away, but found himself immobilized.

"Good," the man said again.

He was so tired. Every muscle ached like he had had an electrical shock. He flashed briefly to an image of Dean, lying motionless and pale in a puddle of water, his heart no longer beating.

His stomach turned and he closed his eyes.

"Sam?"

Sam tried to swallow away the growing nausea, squeezing his eyes more tightly shut. "M'okay, Dean..."

He drifted to sleep without meaning to.

When he awakened, he noticed he wasn't bouncing anymore. The lights were brighter here though and it smelled funny. He was at the hospital.

He raised his head quickly, trying to figure out what was going on.

Gentle hands pushed him back down.

"Easy, little brother."

Sam fought a wave of dizziness. "What's going on?"

Dean could hear the fear and confusion in Sam's voice, and he left a hand on Sam's chest, patting it protectively. "We just got to the hospital. Do you remember the ambulance?"

Sam remembered the bouncing and the EMT. He nodded.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. At least Sam hadn't forgotten anything. That had to be a good sign.

Sam felt something tight on his arm, something putting pressure on his finger. His eyes sought wildly until he recognized the person at his side as a nurse, smiling as she fiddled with the blood pressure cuff. Looking down, he saw the clip on his finger.

He let his eyes follow the line from the clip stretching up behind his head, intermingling with a host of other cords, which he suddenly realized were all hooked up to him.

He felt himself tensing as he heard voices speaking all around him.

"...we'll need a CT..."

"...vitals are stable..."

"...get the saline started..."

He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Sam?"

He wanted to ignore them; it was a dream, always a dream.

"Sammy, open your eyes."

Dean's voice was stern and uncompromising. He opened his eyes and flinched when he didn't see his brother.

"Sam," a doctor said. "How are you feeling?"

Sam felt Dean's hand still lingering on his arm. He swallowed. "I'm fine. Just a little tired."

The doctor offered an empty smile as he accepted a printout from a nurse. He pursed his lips as he read it. Then he peered over the half-moon of his glasses at Dean. "I'm afraid we'll have to ask you to leave for a bit while we run some tests."

Dean started to rise, but Sam reached for him, his movements frantic and jerky. He couldn't be alone. Not again. Not when it was always so close. "Dean, don't leave me."

Leaving was the last thing Dean wanted to do, but he was worried about Sam. In fact, it was fair to say that since seeing his brother writhing on the floor of their bathroom, he was terrified for him. All Dean wanted was for the doctor to figure out what was wrong with Sam so that he could get better.

"Just relax, Sammy," Dean said, gripping his hand. "They've just got to figure out what happened, okay?"

"Dean—"

"I'll be right in the other room, okay?"

Sam felt his heart race for a moment, but the sure look on Dean's face made his protests dissipate.

"It's going to be okay, Sam."

Sam held Dean's gaze for as long as he could, until he disappeared behind the swinging doors of the trauma room.

He felt himself being moved, lifted, and repositioned. As his eyes focused, he realized he was surrounding by people, all hovering around him and moving purposefully, doing thing, doing important things..._what were they doing?_

"I'm Dr. Siela," the man with the glasses said, meeting his gaze. "Do you remember what happened?"

Sam grimaced as he felt hands probing his body. "I…I was in the bathroom."

"Anything else?"

Sam tried to shake his head. "I…"

A light shift of air settled over him and he felt his breath catch in his throat. _Betrayer_.

It was here.

"Sam?"

It was here. _How could it be here? How can it be everywhere?_

Sam tried to focus, tried to turn his attention back to the doctor, but he felt his resolve shaking. _No. Not here. Not again._

"Sam?"

_You are the betrayer._

He had to get out of here. The doctors and nurses paid no heed, still moving about him. _What were they doing?_

"His heart rate is increasing."

"BP's rising."

Someone cut away his shirt and Sam shivered.

"No. Don't. Look," Sam said with a nervous laugh. "I'm fine. I don't need—"

They didn't listen, and their fluid movements seemed to become more rapid above his head.

"Please," Sam said again. He had to get out of here. Pulling at the wires attached to him, he tried to sit up. "I don't—"

He found himself restrained. A head wavered above him, looking down at him. "We're here to help." It was a nurse, a pretty one, too. She was young, blonde. Dean would like her. Her smile was full and she had a dimple in her left cheek.

Her smile assuaged his anxiety and he let himself relax.

"You need help," she said, her voice suddenly too sweet, dripping with something Sam couldn't place.

Then her eyes, once round and blue, blackened, and her smile twisted sadistically. "You are weak."

Her voice was like acid now, and it burned his mind. "No…" he protested, pulling again as best he could. As he flailed for freedom, hands anchored him, tied him down. He had no escape, nowhere to turn, and he could not take his eyes from the face above him.

"Surrender, betrayer."

A chill racked his body and he struggled futilely against his bonds. He had no recourse. He was completely vulnerable to whatever they tried to do to him.

Distantly he could hear the noise of the trauma room, the hurried tones of the doctors. "…sedate him."

"He pulled the IV."

"Doctor, I think he's seizing—"

He could barely feel their hands now, working about him, and his vision tunneled darkly, until all he could see were the eyes above him.

_You are mine_.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **I have a feeling I'm going to catch some flak for this chapter. Just remember everything that's happened. Okay? And feel free to rant--I like long reviews :) Much gratitude as usual to geminigrl11 who told me this chapter works--so complaints can be voiced to her :)

**Chapter Eleven**

Dean leaned back in the chair, his leg bouncing unconsciously as he chewed his lower lip.

Hospital waiting rooms were not unfamiliar to him, nor was the feeling of helplessness that invariably accompanied them.

But no waiting room had ever been this unsettling.

Sometimes hunts went bad, sometimes they went really bad, and the waiting room served as the place were adrenaline dwindled and the question of what went wrong was identified and answered, over and over again.

Dean's adrenaline had definitely faded, but the question of what went wrong had never been so elusive.

Usually he could pinpoint a flaw—being too slow, being unprepared, being caught off guard. These were things he could analyze and fix, things he could identify and solve.

This time—

He didn't know what to think about this time. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the look of Sam's body, twitching on the floor before it fell deadly still.

This time, Dean didn't know what happened. He didn't know what lies to feed the doctors and nurses because he was as clueless as the rest of them.

There were acceptable risks in their line of work, and each Winchester had paid his dues with blood and broken bones. They'd seen each other through concussions and stitches, hospital stays and home therapy.

He had been scared before. He'd been scared the first time Sam had gotten knocked unconscious, when he'd first seen his baby brother go down and not get up. He'd been scared the first time Sam had really gotten sliced, nice and deep, and the sight of his brother's blood had made him nauseous even when his father said it wasn't that serious. In fact, he'd been scared every time he'd seen Sam hurt, that momentary sensation of disconnectedness, of denial, of proverbial crap hitting the fan.

But the moments had always passed. Even Sammy's hospital stays had never been that long or that stressful, and Dean had always been able to pass the time in reflection of what he could do better next time.

This time, he hadn't done anything wrong. He hadn't missed pulling Sammy away from a poltergeist; he hadn't been too slow in shooting away a spirit. This time, he had just woken up and found his brother having a seizure. And he still had no idea why.

He could understand when Sam got a concussion from being thrown into another wall. He could understand Sam getting stitches after a run in with a creative poltergeist. He could understand when Sam sprained his ankle in a scuffle with a not-so-happy spirit.

He understood those things better than most doctors ever would and they were things he counted on, things that made waiting rooms a hell of a lot less scary and a lot more self-deprecating.

But he didn't understand anything this time.

He didn't know if the nightmares were connected to it, if Sam had even been sleeping or eating at all since they'd left California, or what it all meant. He didn't know if the cause was supernatural, or if someone was after Sam, or if Sam's psychic brain was tripping out on a lack of nutrition and rest.

Most of all--worst of all--he didn't know if Sam was going to be okay.

He let his head hang in his hands and he thought about calling his father.

When the doctor came out, Dean recognized him before the doctor had to ask for him.

"How is he?"

"Mr. Clarke, we've got your brother settled into a room. Currently he's stable, but he's still unconscious. He had another seizure in the trauma room before we were able to stabilize him."

Dean's mind reeled a little from the new information, but he forced himself to focus. "What caused it?"

"CT was normal—we can't find anything in his brain to explain it. The tox screen shows nothing out of the ordinary in his system," the doctor said. He paused, pursing his lips. "You're sure Sam doesn't take any medications or have any drug habits?"

Dean shook his head quickly. "No, never. What's wrong with him?"

The doctor pursed his lips. "Sam was severely dehydrated and exhausted. It looks as if he has hasn't slept or eaten in days. This, in extreme circumstances, can cause seizures like Sam's."

"So is he okay?"

"It takes the body awhile to recover from seizures, but we were able to contain the second seizure quickly. I don't think there'll be any lingering physical after-effects. We've got him on a saline solution to get him hydrated again."

Dean could sense there was something more. "What aren't you telling me?"

Dr. Siela took a breath. "Sam was conscious when he was brought in. He was fairly oriented. But while we were examining him, he suddenly became very agitated and somewhat disoriented. We can't find a medical reason."

Dean waited for the other shoe to fall. "So?"

The doctor sighed, his brows knitting together thoughtfully. "We have to consider all the reasons for his status. Right now, beyond the dehydration and exhaustion, there is no physiological reason for Sam's condition. So there may be some underlying condition we haven't discovered yet or it could be something psychological. We're still running tests, but we do plan to have a psychiatrist come and assess Sam."

Dean's knee-jerk reaction was to tell the doctor off but good. Sam didn't need a shrink. He needed to sleep for twelve hours, wake up, eat a good meal, and sleep for another twelve. He needed to sit out in the sun long enough to get some color back in his skin. He needed to kick back with a couple of beers, laugh, smile, and just forget about everything for awhile.

But the protest never made it out of Dean's throat. Because just as quickly as his defense of Sam came, so did the memory of Sam's behavior over the last few days - how much Sam hadn't slept, how little he'd eaten, how off he'd been acting.

Sam seemed sure it was supernatural, but no demon or ghost had ever given Sam a seizure before.

Until he could figure it out for sure, Dean was starting to think it might be better to let the doctors have a crack at figuring Sam out. At the very least, it couldn't hurt.

"Okay," he finally agreed, feeling deflated. "But can I see him?"

"Of course," Dr. Siela replied easily. "Though he is in a deep state of unconsciousness; it's common after seizures like Sam's. It'll probably take a few hours for him to come out of it."

Dean's throat was too tight to reply, so he nodded, blinking back the unfamiliar burning in his eyes.

**OOOOOOO**

Unconsciousness was not kind to Sam. The normally healthy glow of his skin had been completely depleted, leaving his skin pallid and colorless. Sam's hair fell away from his forehead, swept away in the chaos of the night. His eyes seemed sunken, set deeply within the sockets, shaded by darkness underneath.

Dean had seen Sam out of it before, but never like this. Sam seemed like nothing more than a hollowed-out shell, a body caving in on itself. The only time that had ever been close were the days following Jessica's death.

Sam's grief had been visceral then, ravaging his senses and leaving him groping in the aftermath. Sam had forgotten all the necessities of life, and Dean was certain that if he hadn't been there to feed him and make sure he went to bed, Sam would have self-destructed.

But Sam had pulled through, had come back into himself, and had managed to keep himself from falling apart in the face of his growing adversities.

Dean leaned over his brother's sleeping form, trying to assure himself of Sam's presence. He felt his heart begin to beat in tandem with the beeping on the monitor, and let his chest follow the rise and fall of Sam's.

For a minute, Dean thought to make a wisecrack, but couldn't bring his throat to work. He let out a strangled laugh instead as his hand hovered above his brother's head.

"Geez, Sammy," he breathed. "Don't you know you're not supposed to pull stunts like this on vacation? Wait till we're on a hunt so you can actually get out of work."

He didn't expect Sam to reply, but the silence haunted him. His brother hadn't been the talkative type recently, but even just the sound of his brother's voice was comforting, gave him reason to be strong, to keep it together. Without someone to put on a facade for, Dean felt weak.

"It's okay," he said softly. "You're going to be okay."

He watched Sam's unmoving face, his still limbs, and wished that Sam's unconsciousness was providing him the reprieve that sleep had not been able to.

He was still standing there, firmly by Sam's side, when the nurse came back in to check on them.

She had to coax Dean from the room, telling him that Sam needed to be examined, that his brother was fine at the moment, that she would come get him the minute anything changed.

She led Dean to the waiting room and left him there, and Dean watched her go, his eyes fixed on the blank walls long after she had left the hallway.

He wondered if this it what Sam had felt when Dean had been in the hospital--this numbing, encompassing terror that now crept through Dean's own veins. He could still see that pained, desperate look in Sam's eyes as Dean joked about his own death, and suddenly realized how wrong it had been. Dean's self-defense had come at the expense of Sam's heart. How Sam prevailed when he had been so flippant, he wasn't sure.

How had Sam had the strength to do anything at all?

He didn't know, but he knew he needed to be that strong for Sam, that persistent for Sam. No matter what was wrong, Dean would do anything to make him better.

**OOOOOOO**

"Sam?"

He was tired of people talking to him, tired, tired, tired.

"Sam?"

His eyes were open. Something was wrong. Why wouldn't they just go away?

"Do you know where you are?"

Sam's eyes searched the ceiling frantically, his mind racing. "…hospital?"

"Good. What's your name?"

He looked again at the doctor. The doctor looked plain, nondescript--they all had white coats--and this one wore a tie. The tie was so blue. Sam couldn't move his hands.

"Sam," he finally answered.

The doctor nodded.

Where was Dean? What was their cover story?

"What day is it?"

Why was he here?

"Do you know why you're here?"

His eyes traveled down his body. His clothes were gone. He was in a hospital gown. His hands were tied down in soft restraints at the bedrails. Why was he tied down?

"Sam?"

He looked back at the doctor. "I—" he tried, but nothing else came to him.

The doctor made a note on his clipboard, nodding patiently.

A nurse came into the room, pleasantly smiling as she checked the equipment. He watched her distractedly.

"Sam?" the doctor asked.

Sam was about to look back at him when the young woman turned her eyes to Sam, darkness engulfing them.

Sam flinched and whimpered. It was still here.

"Sam? What's wrong? What do you see?"

Sam glanced frantically to the doctor and back to the nurse.

The doctor followed his gaze, perplexed. "That's just Nurse Webber."

Sam's mind raced. _Couldn't he see it? Couldn't he see her eyes?_ His breath quickened as his eyes darted desperately between the two medical personnel in the room.

The nurse looked hesitant to make a move that might further upset the young man. "Doctor?" she asked tentatively, her hands pulled away from the equipment.

"Sam? What's wrong?"

Sam looked wildly up. "I--can you--I mean--please, I want to leave."

A monitor was beeping. The doctor exchanged a glance with the nurse. "Sam, you need to calm down," he said evenly, moving closer toward the young man.

Sam pulled desperately against his restraints, his body straining with the effort. "Please," he begged, tears beginning to cloud his vision. "I have to get away."

The doctor put a firm hand on Sam's shoulder, attempting to still him. "Sam, I need you to look at me. Look at me, son. If you don't calm down, we're going to have to sedate you again, do you understand?"

Sam was shaking, cold shivers running up and down his body. He flinched at the doctor's touch, but allowed his calming and steady voice to direct his attention.

"Good," Dr. Ness said, as Sam made eye contact. "Now tell me what you saw."

Sam's mouth trembled. He couldn't tell them, not when they didn't see, not with her standing there staring at him like that. He looked at her again and her gaze intensified, piercing him nearly physically. "No..." he whispered softly, closing his eyes.

"Sam, what's wrong?"

Tentatively, Sam opened his eyes, letting them turn from the doctor to the young woman at his side. He braced himself for what he was to see and his breath caught in his throat as he stared up into the wide, doe-shaped, blue eyes of Nurse Webber.

The doctor took Sam's silence and disbelief as his answer. "Okay, Sam," he said. "We're going to keep monitoring you."

Sam shook his head tightly. "No, that's not necessary. I'm ready to go. My brother is--"

The doctor interrupted him with a gentle but firm hand to his arm. "Your brother agreed that you needed to stay here a little longer, Sam."

Sam was incredulous. There was no way that Dean would ever agree to this, would ever just leave him here without talking to him first. Dean didn't play by doctor's rules, ever, unless--

Sam didn't finish his thought.

"I'm going to talk with him. He'll be in to visit with you afterwards, I'm sure, and then you and I can talk more as well."

Sam just stared, feeling as though his world was collapsing around him. Dean couldn't--he wouldn't--

The doctor left, and Sam tried to clear his mind, not picturing the way the nurse's eyes had changed, not remembering the whisper that had haunted his thoughts for days.

_You are mine._

He shuddered.

But most of all, he tried to not think about how Dean, his brother, the only person in his life that he could truly count on, had left him there.

Alone.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** I'm posting this early because it's summer and apparently I have nothing better to do :) And also because I want to get this chapter posted and one more before next Monday which is why I will be on vacation and unable to post for a few days...As for this chapter, I tried to keep in as in character as I could, though I must admit, I'm not so sure about it. All I can say is trust me, okay? I know what I'm doing with this fic. I really do. Well, as much as I ever do... (Gem, time to STOP having a life and get back to the internet! Are you listening to me?)

**Chapter Twelve**

Dean clenched his hands into fists, but made an effort to keep them in his lap. He needed to focus, to hear everything the doctor was saying to him. Normally, the after-care instructions were things Dean already knew--change the bandage, watch for infection, take the antibiotics. But as the doctor in front of him had introduced himself, Dean had known right then that this time was different. _Dr. Robert Ness, Head of Psychiatry._

Any other time, he would have taken Sam and bolted. But this time he couldn't, he just couldn't, because he didn't really know what was wrong with Sam or how to make his brother better. So he let the doctor lead him to his office, seat him in a padded chair, and explain his take on Sam's condition.

"Medically, his seizure was caused by dehydration and exhaustion. However, for someone to let their body get to that state—that's a more serious concern right now. Sam would have had to be depriving himself of drink and sleep for an extended period of time for his body to respond in this way. We have to look at that as a symptom of a greater problem."

"What kind of problem?"

The doctor sighed, weighing his words. "A psychological problem."

The words made Dean bristle. "Sam's not crazy."

"Crazy is not a clinical term," the doctor said. "However, after talking to Sam, even after he's been hydrated, I have reason to worry about his mental stability."

"What do you mean?"

"While I was talking to him, he became extremely agitated. He wouldn't elaborate, but his body language suggested he was seeing something, something that clearly was not there. Before he even became fully conscious, he was trying to get out of the room--the nurse had to put him in soft restraints to keep him from injuring himself. The doctors in the emergency room reported similar behavior. Have you noticed anything like that?"

Dean tried not to give away the twinge of panic that shot through him. Sam would know better than to tell a doctor, but what could spook Sam to the extent of not being able to hide it? He fought to control his composure, but the doctor was studying him closely. "Sam's, uh--pretty quiet."

The doctor looked skeptical, well aware that Dean hadn't answered the question. "Clearly he is not living in a completely altered state—he still knows who he is and what's going on around him. But he's paranoid and is perhaps suffering from hallucinations. Now we've run various tests and ruled out the majority of physical conditions that would cause this type of state. We've also ruled out schizophrenia, though Sam is the right age for that."

Dean found himself unable to speak.

"His neglect of his body suggests either a self-destructive nature or an extreme inability to self-assess. He does not seem aware of how his lack of sleep and eating have affected him, which he should. People don't act like that for no reason. Has your brother been under any unusual stress? Has he suffered any emotional trauma?"

Dean tried to shrug, tried to find a lie, but his bravado could not be summoned. He looked meekly at the floor. It couldn't just be psychological. Sam was right; it had to be supernatural . . . it had to be.

"I realize this is difficult for you, but your brother's mental state is very unstable. If we're going to figure out what's wrong with Sam, we have to understand his physical and psychological condition right now."

Dean's dealings with doctors usually consisted of half-truths and flippant write-offs. But the doctor's stare pierced him, and Sam's condition terrified him. Even if this was all for nothing, it couldn't hurt to venture a little honesty. For Sam's sake. "His girlfriend died. About eight months ago."

The doctor took in the information with a note of surprise. "I see," he mused. "Was it unexpected?"

"Yeah," Dean said softly, looking away. "He saw it happen. It was…a fire. Sam made it out. She didn't."

"How did Sam respond?"

Dean felt exasperated. "How do you think he responded? For awhile he didn't know what to do, how to feel. He got angry. And then, I don't know. He just got quiet."

"Has he seen anyone about it?"

Dean shook his head and looked away.

"Do you discuss it much with him?"

Biting his lip, Dean shook head again. "Not much."

The doctor made a small sound in his throat. "And what has your brother been doing since the accident?"

"What do you mean?"

"Has he been working, going to school…that kind of thing?"

Dean searched the wall, looking for a lie that seemed least offensive. "We've been taking some time off. Road tripping."

"Road tripping. Just you and him?"

"Yeah, you know. Seeing the country, that kind of thing."

The doctor made the noise again, that almost condemning click of his tongue. "Well, that certainly makes sense," he said. "Based on what you've told me and Sam's current state, I'm thinking it is a combination of post traumatic stress and a transient, unstable lifestyle. Sam's world lacks consistency, foundation. Of course, we'll have to do more assessment before we can figure out the best treatment for Sam, but it seems likely from what I've seen and what you've told me that Sam is suffering from brief reactive psychosis, which you might think of as a nervous breakdown."

Dean's immediate response was again to protest. He knew his brother, knew Sam far better than any doctor ever would. And Sam _wasn't_ crazy. Sam was fine. _Sam doesn't need anything _I_ can't give him_.

But the doctor's words struck a chord, explaining Sam's behavior in ways he had not been able to after days of retrospection.

As much as Dean wanted to deny it, he couldn't, he couldn't bring himself to reject the doctor's words. _Brief reactive psychosis. _It hit him hard. _Psychosis. _"What does that mean?"

The doctor shifted patiently. "It can happen sometimes following a traumatic event, especially when the grief remains unresolved. Fortunately, usually the psychosis is temporary, and tends to pass on its own within two weeks if Sam can stay in a safe and consistent environment. Sometimes drugs are used to control it, but we wouldn't take any steps until we further assess Sam's condition and what triggered the onset of the psychosis."

It didn't get easier to hear the word, but it was harder and harder to expel from the realm of possibility. Sam's erratic behavior. Sam's nightmares.

He took a shaky breath. Whatever was going on with Sammy, the hospital would be a place where Sam would be safe while they sorted it all out. "Can I see him?"

**OOOOOOO**

Sam's room was dimmed and the shades were pulled. Dean entered quietly, expecting to find his baby brother tucked under the neutral hospital sheets on the bed. He nearly called for the nurse when he found it empty.

But before he could open his mouth, Sam's voice stopped him. "Dean. Thank God."

Startled, Dean turned to find his brother standing in the shadowed corner behind a chair. The relief in Sam's face was palpable. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"No. We have to leave. They took my clothes, but we need to leave."

Dean moved slowly toward his brother. "I think maybe we should stay," he suggested, trying to sound casual. "Such good food."

Sam flinched at Dean's words, still huddled in the corner like a frightened animal.

"What are you doing in the corner?"

"It's here."

"What's here?"

Sam looked nervously toward the door. "I don't know for sure, but I saw it."

Dean controlled a spike of worry and doubt. "You saw it? Where?"

"In her eyes. The nurse. Her eyes were black. She's...she's...possessed."

Dean paused, trying to balance the doctor's insight with his trust in his kid brother. "The nurse is possessed? Which one?"

Sam nodded vigorously. "The blonde one. Webber. I don't know what it wants. And it doesn't stay there. In the nurse, I mean. It moves in and out, but it's here, Dean, it's here."

Sam sounded confident, but Dean could not help but notice how gaunt Sam looked. He doubted his brother could stand much longer without passing out. "Okay. We can check it out. But you need to get back to bed, okay?"

Panicked, Sam's eyes widened. "No," he hissed. "They--they tried to tie me down. I can't stay here."

"Sam--"

But Sam was beyond reason. Dean saw that he had pulled the IV. His brother's legs trembled and he leaned heavily against the chair. _Come on, Sammy_.

"I need to leave. I'm okay. Really."

Dean moved closer to his brother, reaching his hand out in placation. "You had a seizure."

Sam couldn't hear. He didn't care. "It's after me, Dean, and if I stay here, I have no way of fighting it."

"What's after you, Sam?"

"I don't know," he said in an explosive whisper. "I don't know. But it's everywhere."

The outburst shook Sam and Dean reached out as his brother's balance wavered. "Let's get you back to bed, okay?"

Sam didn't have the energy to resist, leaning heavily against his brother, but he kept on in gasping breaths. "Please, Dean. Don't make me stay."

"You're going to be fine, okay? I'll make sure of it."

"But--"

"I'll check it out, okay? I'll look for the nurse. I'll ask around, say Christo a bunch. If there's something here, I'll find it."

"It moves, though, Dean, everywhere," Sam mumbled as they reached the bed. "I saw it all over town. It could leave."

"I know, okay? Don't worry about it. I'll give the whole town a once over, but you've got to stay here."

"I don't want to be alone," Sam said, his eyes staring up as he sunk back into the bed.

Dean's breath caught in his throat. Sam so rarely admitted his vulnerabilities, and it hurt Dean to see Sam so desperate. "Don't worry about a thing," Dean assured him with more confidence than he felt. "I'm going to take care of everything."

Sam's eyes still looked afraid, a little desperate, but Sam's body began to relax and he slipped away into sleep.

Dean collapsed into the chair and watched the steady rise and fall of Sam's chest. Something was wrong with Sam, Dean was sure of it. His brother's behavior was irrational and childlike, spurred on by emotion and expressed chaotically. And the seizures weren't something to ignore.

The doctor's diagnosis made sense, but Sam didn't seem the type. After all, Sam was a Winchester, and they were strong. Their father had gone for 22 years without as much as a visit to a shrink.

Dean stopped that train of thought, realizing with a bitter smile that his father was not exactly the poster child for healthy coping skills.

But his father had kept it together. He hadn't fallen apart psychologically, and he couldn't peg that for Sam either, especially when Sam was so sure that something was after him.

Either way, he had to get serious. His attention to the research Sam forced on him since coming here had been half-hearted and meager; it was time to focus a lot more.

Starting with finding the nurse. He studied his brother again, noting the IV dripping steadily onto the floor. Who better to restart an IV than a nurse?

**OOOOOOO**

"Nurse Webber?"

She smiled broadly at him. "Yes?"

"You're Nurse Webber?"

Her blonde ponytail swung as she nodded her head. "Yes."

"You helped my brother, Sam?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment before replying, "Yes, the young man with the seizure. His vitals are looking much better since we hydrated him."

"Yeah, that's what I wanted to ask about. I think he accidentally pulled his IV."

Her eyes went round and Dean looked deeply into them. "We'll have to restart that right away," she said.

All Dean could manage was a disappointed, "Yeah." Her eyes were round and deep and crystal blue.

She was heading briskly down the hall and Dean followed her a step behind. With a deep breath, he made one last effort. "Christo," he said, loud enough for her to hear.

She turned and smiled at him funny. "Did you say something?"

"Christo," he said again, his eyes trained on her face.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't speak Spanish."

Dean clenched his teeth and forced a smile. "That's too bad."

**OOOOOOO**

The nurse fixed Sam's IV but Dean had to sweet talk her into not notifying the doctor of Sam's attempted escape.

Alone in the dark room, Dean leaned back in the chair with a sigh. "I don't know, Sammy. She checks out. Nothing dark in her."

Sam, practically passed out on the bed, offered no reply.

"If there's something after you, kiddo, you know I'll find it," Dean said. He let his eyes traverse Sam's long body, which was covered by the thin hospital blankets. When Sam was stretched out, Dean was always surprised by how much of Sam there was, how his legs seemed to keep going. They almost seemed to stick off the edge of the bed.

Even in the dimness, Sam's features looked pale. The fluids may have helped Sam's vitals, but his complexion remained the same sickly hue. Even in sleep, Sam simply looked exhausted.

Not that Dean could blame him. They had been on the go for months straight, never really slowing their pace since Dean pulled Sam from his burning apartment at Stanford.

Eight months--had it been that long? Dean tried to remember where the time went, how so much time had passed without him paying heed.

Eight months and so little said between them. Eight months and a handful of conversations that were meaningful. Eight months and few insights into the dark workings of his brother's tormented mind. He had seen glimpses. He had seen Sam's rage while hunting the Wendigo, his overwhelming need to make things better, his near-inability to focus on anything except the hunt at hand.

He had seen it with Bloody Mary, when he couldn't ignore just how much Sam's grief over Jess haunted him. Sam hadn't come clean with him then, but he knew Sam blamed himself for her death, a guilt which Dean knew Sam needed to overcome someday or it would overcome him.

He didn't know how true that was until Sam admitted the visions to him when they returned to Lawrence. But Sam's honesty about the visions had defined a shift in their relationship. Sam's grief had turned into angst over what he hadn't prevented, what he could still prevent.

But the grief was still there, along with a host of other resentments and hurts Dean didn't want to think about. Sam's feelings of rejection from their father. Sam's feelings of resentment toward him for being the good little soldier. So much boiled under the surface in his brother, that it seemed to take something supernatural to draw it out of him.

Dean had always figured Sam would talk when he was ready, that he would know when to push Sam, when Sam couldn't deal with it anymore. But, eight months...

Eight months of close calls and near misses.

He sighed, leaning forward. His fingers lingered above Sam's hand, almost touching, but instead gripping the metal bedrail. "I won't let anything else happen to you. You can count on that."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **This chapter ends kind of funny, I think, but I'm terrible at deciding chapter breaks sometimes, so that's just how this one ends. This is my last post before my vacation, so I hope to be posting again a week from today with the next chapter. During the drive I hope to think up many more ways to make Sam limp and may even develop a plot bunny with man-eating sunflowers just for my lovely beta, geminigrl11 :)

**Chapter Thirteen**

New Junction, Utah was the most average town Dean had ever heard of. There had been few murders in its uneventful history, and all had ceased to be of import to local lore within years of their occurrence.

There was one string of animal mutilations in the 70s, which had looked promising for occult connections. But, as Dean uncovered more on the story, he learned the culprit had been a maladjusted teen, who, after serving time and undergoing extensive therapy, recanted of his ways and ran the local animal shelter until his passing due to lung cancer.

Several people had disappeared, but most were teenagers involved in sketchy pastimes. One younger mother had vanished without a trace in the 80s, and the case was mysterious, but there had been no leads, no myths, nothing.

There were no unusual police reports lately and no uneasy rumors about the town. Everything seemed perfectly normal. Except Sam.

Dean had searched through stacks of town records, scoured all newspaper clippings, done countless Internet searches—and they all yielded the same results. There was nothing unusual about New Junction.

Dean wanted to believe Sam. Time had proven Sam's abilities real and to be trusted, but Dean could not quell the doubts.

In the past, Sam's nightmares and visions had taken on a predictable pattern. They had shown the future, made clear connections for Sam to follow. Sam had always been resolute following his visions before.

Whatever was happening now was making Sam a wreck. His thoughts were chaotic, his responses confused and uncertain. This recent string of events didn't fit any norm Dean could postulate.

Dean would have laughed had he not been so worried. Sam's abilities were anything but normal on the best of days. And with the sudden onset of daily visions and the telekinesis, Dean couldn't rule out the growing progression of Sam's powers.

Still, if it was something supernatural, Dean would have picked up on some hint of it by now. There would be something, somewhere to indicate that there was something suspicious going on.

Leaning back in his chair, Dean considered one last option. It was possible something was preying specifically on Sam, that he was the sole target, which would explain why nothing unusual was popping up around town.

He sighed. But if something were preying on Sam, he would have noticed something. Sam spent no more than a few hours apart from Dean at a time, and Dean had been in Sam's presence several times when Sam had shown signs of instability. The EMF was showing no signs of anything unusual. What kind of creature could have such an intimate impact on its victim? Sam was too terrified to be possessed himself.

He tired to remember some of the other things Sam had mentioned, the signs that had made Sam so positive that there was evil at work around him. The Celtic relics sprang to mind. Eager to get away from the books, he headed to the Reference Desk and hailed a librarian.

"Yeah, I was wondering if you could direct me to the pawn shop?"

The librarian tilted her head. "What pawn shop?"

"I don't know. The one near downtown."

"I don't think there is a pawn shop downtown. There's not one in the whole town in fact," she said thoughtfully, glancing at the other librarian.

"Nope. There's one in Saylorville though, about ten miles down the way."

"What about a consignment shop? Antique store?"

"There is an antique store, but it's outside of town."

"You sure?"

"I've lived here all my life, I'd better be sure," she said with a chuckle.

Dean mumbled a thank you, running a tired hand over his forehead. Another dead end.

He wanted Sam to be right with all his heart. He had always trusted in Sam's intellect, in his ability to reason and think. If Sam were wrong...

He hated to think about it.

If Sam were wrong, then he'd failed to protect his brother in the most fundamental way. What good was saving Sam's life if Sam lost control of his mind?

This was something he didn't know how to deal with. The doctor's diagnosis was impossible to accept. They were far better equipped to deal with a supernatural problem than a psychological problem. Hell, he didn't even know what dealing with Sam's problems would entail--aside from taking a prolonged break from hunting. Maybe even a permanent one. _Brief reactive psychosis. Posttraumatic stress. _Who knew if Sam would recover at all?

No. It wasn't like that. Sam wasn't like that. Sam was strong. He was a Winchester. Sam would be fine. All Dean had to do was figure this out, then he'd take care of Sam like he always did.

The library suddenly seemed stifling, and Dean couldn't handle another book that yielded the same message of normalcy. On his way to the motel room, he recounted every thought, every fear Sam had given voice to, but nothing fit together. By the time he finally got to the room, Dean felt drained. He had spent most of the previous night waiting for news on Sam, too haunted by the vision of his brother convulsing to attempt sleep. Adrenaline had gotten him through his time at the library and the police station, but with still a few hours before he could visit Sam again, he was spent physically and emotionally.

There was nothing unusual in New Junction. Nothing except a pawn shop that didn't exist and a psychic kid brother who was on a psychiatric hold.

Too lost to think, Dean meandered to the café. He needed energy in some form or another, and at this point, something artificial seemed easier than the real thing.

He half stumbled inside, ordering a coffee, leaning hard against the counter as he waited.

The store manager peered at him as he made the coffee, studying him in that way small town people had a tendency to. Dean was ready to respond to questions about where he was from and what had brought him to town as he met the man's gaze wearily. But he was surprised to hear a totally different question posed. "You related to that other kid? Tall, dark shaggy hair?"

"Yeah," Dean said slowly, not able to gauge the man's intentions.

The man paused, bit his lip. "I normally wouldn't say anything—everyone has their own things and it's their business. But, he worries me. I've watched him. Comes in every morning, orders the same thing and then drinks it. Same corner table over there."

"So?"

The man hesitated again. "He talks to himself."

Dean's heart sank.

He continued. "It's usually pretty quiet. At first I thought he was on his phone, but…he wasn't. And he would make gestures, stare at the space next to him, like he was talking to someone who just wasn't there."

Dean couldn't remember if he said thank you, just took his coffee and retreated to a corner of the cafe.

The pawn shop. Talking to himself. What kind of force could make Sam do that?

That question propelled him for the next hour as he poured over his father's journal, and typed endless prompts into the laptop, looking for something, anything to explain his brother's behavior.

Nothing. Nothing could cause that. Nothing supernatural anyway.

He hadn't intended on looking at the medical links, but after typing in things like _seizures_ and _hallucinations_ and _erratic behavior_, they seemed to be all that popped up.

After everything that Sam had been through and the fact that Sam had barely even had time let alone the desire to really deal with it, how could Dean honestly say that a breakdown wasn't possible? Not everything in life was supernatural, and Sam's grief and absence of coping skills didn't bode well. A breakdown wasn't just possible, Dean realized numbly. It was practically inevitable.

Dean swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat. He had never put Sam's losses in context before--he'd only viewed them against the backdrop of the family business. Jess's death--all the more reason to dive into the quest for vengeance. There was no time for grief, no time to come to terms with the image of the woman he loved bursting in flames above him, no time to forget the feeling of her blood on his forehead, no time to deal with the guilt for lying to her, for running away and having it all come back to bite him. There was no time for any of it. There was a father to find and a demon to hunt and a thousand other priorities along the way.

Grief was a luxury they hadn't had when their mother died. Grieving wasn't something their father had ever given them a chance to do, just plunged himself into vengeance regardless of everything. That had seemed normal to Dean, to kill instead of cry, to hunt instead of grieve. But Dean had never thought about it with relation to Jess. He figured Sam would handle it like the rest of them, deny what was there and move on. And Dean no reason to doubt that it was working...that was, of course, if Dean ignored the things Sam didn't say, the things Dean could sense but never made Sam talk about. If he could ignore the simmering anger that seemed to lurk just below the surface when Sam was confronted with supernatural evil. If he could ignore the lost, broken expression that haunted Sam at odd moments. If he could ignore the nightmares and the visions and the telekinesis that seemed to wrench Sam painfully from normalcy and peace whenever he tried to look for it.

Brief reactive psychosis. Posttraumatic stress.

Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose.

It was a wonder Sam had made it this far.

The doctor was right. There were no other explanations. His father had recorded no case similar to this. None of the reliable supernatural sites did either. There was simply nothing.

Why had he not paid more attention, looked into this sooner? Why had he not seen that Sam wasn't okay?

More importantly, how was he going to help Sam get better?

**OOOOOOO**

Sam was awake, sitting up in bed, and looking more than a little restless by the time Dean returned to the hospital. "Dean," he cried out, his voice nearly cracking with relief. "Thank God. We need to get out of here. They won't let me leave."

_That might not be such a bad thing, Sammy_. "Yeah, I know."

"So we've got to make a run for it," Sam whispered, leaning forward.

Dean collected himself. "Look, you need to stay the night here, okay? We can talk about what we're doing next in the morning."

Sam shook his head adamantly. "I don't want to stay here."

"Well, you're not leaving."

"Dean—"

"Sam, you had a seizure. Two of them. We're not messing around with this."

The severity of Dean's words were lost on Sam. "But we can't let it go free! We have to stop it!"

"Sam, you have to calm down!" Yelling at Sam while he was lying on a hospital bed never did seem right, especially now, with Sam's psychological status seeming so tenuous.

But Sam was adamant, trying to push his way out of bed.

"Listen to me," he said, grasping Sam's arms and forcing him to be still. "You're in bad shape, okay? You were dehydrated, sleep deprived, and you've had _two seizures_, Sam. Two. I got to be front-row and center for the first one, and that's not an act I plan to catch again. Ever."

Sam watched him with wide eyes, shocked into submission by his brother's words.

Dean eased off his grip. "So I really don't care about anything else that you think is going on. All I care about is you getting healthy again. And for now, that means staying here. Do you understand?"

It twisted Dean's heart to see that hurt, pained, betrayed look on Sam's face. But he breathed a sigh of relief when Sam nodded tightly, even though he turned his head so that he wouldn't have to look at Dean.

"It's going to be okay, Sammy. _You're _going to be okay. Just, please...for me, okay? Stay here for me." Dean knew it was low to guilt Sam into this, but he was running out of options and patience. If Sam couldn't do this for himself, Dean would use whatever means necessary just to be Sam got the treatment he needed.

Sam still wouldn't look at him, but he didn't protest. Though Dean ached to have Sam understand, Dean didn't blame his brother for not meeting his eyes. If their positions were reversed, Dean knew he wouldn't be too thrilled with him either.

His throat felt tight, but he knew he couldn't back down. Sam needed this, and even if Sam resented it now, it would be best for him in the long run. He had to believe that.

He squeezed Sam's shoulder once before turning to go. "I'll be back in the morning."

Not waiting for the response he was sure wouldn't come anyway, he headed out the door.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** I cannot believe it's being nearly five days since I've been near a computer! Needless to say, within five minutes of getting home, I was online, thus confirming that I am a complete addict. So, after trying to sort through my e-mail and beginning to read all the fic I missed, I'm posting the next chapter. I love that you guys are sticking with this and I love that I have a beta who makes me so much better at this whole writing thing than I actually am :)

**Chapter Fourteen**

A motel room had never seemed so empty. Dean tried sleeping, but it wouldn't come. It was as if he could feel the absence of his brother in the next bed.

He tried to watch TV, but his eyes kept drifting to Sam's bed, to Sam's bag.

He sighed. _I should be with him_.

He had always been the one to take care of Sam. From the night their mother was killed, Sam was _his _responsibility and no one else's. For all the times he'd nearly lost Sam in the past year, he hated that he had left Sam alone in a hospital against his kid brother's will. He hated to think that this was something he couldn't save Sam from, that maybe they both needed outside help to make it better. He hated that he hadn't been enough of a big brother to stop Sam from needing this at all.

Dean fiddled with his phone, nearly calling his father. But this wasn't a phone message he could bring himself to leave. What would he tell his dad--that Sam had had a nervous breakdown? That Dean had let Sam get out of control? That Sam hadn't been strong enough to keep it together?

No, that wasn't it. This wasn't about Sam being strong. This was about Dean doing his job.

Dean cursed, throwing the phone to the side. He leaned back heavily and closed his eyes.

Suddenly, there was a noise at the door.

Dean tensed, his hand instinctively grasping the pistol on the bedside table.

Stealthily, he stood, moving toward the scraping at the door.

Poised, he watched as the latch gave way and the knob turned. He cocked the gun, grabbing the figure roughly as it entered the room and pinning it against the wall. He jabbed the tip of the gun roughly into the intruder's head.

It only took a split second to recognize his brother. "Sam?" he asked incredulously, letting the gun drop. "What are you doing out of the hospital?"

Sam was panting, his eyes still wide from Dean's assault. "I couldn't stay there."

"What are you talking about? You need to stay there. We're taking you back there right now."

Sam shook his head wildly. "No, please, Dean. I can't go back. I need to—I can't—don't leave me alone."

"Sam--"

"Dean, something's—happening. I don't know. I can't explain it. But something's after me. It's everywhere."

Dean suppressed his frustration. "Sam..."

"It was there, in the hospital. It's been in the streets, in the woods, in this room. No one else can see it—but it's there."

Dean watched his brother uncertainly. Sam was trembling and he could see the dried blood on the back of Sam's hand from where he had pulled out the IV.

"It's a demon, Dean, it has to be. It moves in and out of people, in and out of things, possesses them just for moments. But it doesn't need them—it can be anywhere, be anything."

"Do you have anything to back this up? Any proof?"

"Proof? Dean? What else could be going on?"

"Well, why are you the only one who sees it? Why is it not attacking anyone? What's its purpose?"

The questions made Sam stop. "I…I don't know."

Dean sighed. "What makes you so sure it's a demon?"

His mouth hung open and tears sprang to his eyes as he shook his head. "It can get in my mind. We have to stop it."

Sam was breaking down in front of him and his open vulnerability terrified Dean into anger. "What, Sam? What am I supposed to do? You don't sleep, you don't eat, and you're claiming something that no one but you can see and hear is after you. You check yourself out of the hospital and show up expecting me to have answers. I don't even know what's going on, Sam, but you're scaring me. You're falling apart and I don't know what to do."

Sam watched his older brother move in angry paces across the room. "You don't believe me."

Dean rolled his eyes. "What am I supposed to believe, Sammy? You've been on the edge ever since we left Stanford—hell, you nearly lost it when we were hunting the Wendigo. With everything that's happened, Sam, the visions, the demon, Dad—I can't blame you—"

Breathing hard, Sam felt a tear slip down his cheek. "I'm not crazy, Dean. Not like that."

Dean bit back a curse and looked gently down at his brother. "You've got all the symptoms of a nervous breakdown—classic post-traumatic stress. I should have—I should have caught it sooner. I should have let you have more time off after Jessica—"

Sam was shaking his head in disbelief. "This isn't about that. Dean, I swear, this isn't about any of that."

"The doctor thinks—"

"You're going to believe a doctor?" Sam was incredulous. "They don't know what we know. Dean…"

Dean shook his head sadly. "I should have caught this sooner, Sam. I should have made you deal with all this crap a long time ago. But we can't run from this anymore."

Tears in his eyes, Sam plunged to desperation. "That's what it's trying to do. It's trying to make me crazy."

"Sam, stop!" Dean yelled. "The visions are one thing. The nightmares are another. You haven't even grieved since Jess. You haven't been facing up to the fact that all your dreams went up in flames around you. You're not superman, Sammy, and with the lack of sleep, lack of food—no one's blaming you."

Sam had no words left to say, no pleas left to offer. He breathed brokenly, tears running down his cheeks.

Dean moved gently to his brother, kneeling in front of him, looking steadily up into his eyes. "We'll beat this. I promise. Nothing bad is going to happen to you."

Sam met his brother's gaze, but his eyes were distant. Dean's stomach twisted. His platitudes had always quenched his brother's doubt before. He had always been able to ease Sam worries with a promise of protection. But looking up in his kid brother's wide eyes, for the first time, he saw that Sam didn't believe him.

"I'll let you crash here tonight," Dean finally said. "We'll deal with this in the morning."

Sam didn't acknowledge him. Dean waited a minute longer before pulling Sam up and steering him toward the bed.

"Why don't you believe me?"

Dean looked away. "Sam…"

"Why don't you believe me? Why—after everything we've seen—do you question me now?"

"Because none of it was real, Sam!" Dean exploded. "None of it! The voices, the things you saw, the people you imagined doing things, even the places you went, Sam. None of it is real. The people you thought were possessed—they're not. None of them have been. There's been no sign of EMF activity whatsoever. Sam, the guy at the café? Doesn't exist. People have seen you sitting in the café talking to yourself for hours. The pawn shop? Not there. It's never been there. These are just figments of your imagination, Sam, nothing more."

Sam flinched at each one of Dean's points, shrinking into himself. His eyes were wide. "No…" he whispered. "It can't be that way. The possessions—it's got to be some other kind of demon, something we've never seen before to move in and out like that. That could be the voices, too."

"Your psychic vibe guy? The pawn shop?"

"They're real. You just couldn't find them," Sam insisted. "I've got Dominic's card," he said suddenly, reaching for his wallet. He fumbled, muttering before pulling out the card. "See?" he said, holding it out. "This proves it. Dominic's real."

Dean took it and glanced at it, his heart sinking as he did.

"What?"

Dean held the card up for Sam, exposing the blank piece of card stock.

Confused, Sam snatched it back, examining it himself, flipping it over and over. "That's impossible," he murmured. "It was here. It has to be here." He picked up his wallet and tore through it. "It's in here somewhere."

"Sam," Dean said. "It's not there. It's never been there."

"Yes, it is," he said, frenetically emptying out the fake IDs and credit cards.

"Sam--God, Sam, stop," he said, grabbing his brother's hands.

Tears in his eyes, Sam looked up at him, an uncertain clarity gleaming in them. "It was here, Dean. I'm not crazy, Dean."

"I know you're not crazy."

"Just suffering from a nervous breakdown, right, so much better," Sam said, shrugging away from him.

"This stuff happens. We've got to deal with it."

"This stuff doesn't happen. I'm not losing my mind, Dean. This stuff is real. I can't explain how or why it's happening the way it is, but I know the difference between imaginary and reality."

"Sam, we'll deal with this in the morning. You need to get some sleep. I need to get some sleep."

Sam had his mouth open to protest but Dean cut him off. "Sleep!"

The force behind Dean's voice was unusually strong. Reluctantly, Sam lay on his bed, not even getting under the covers.

Dean pulled a chair closer to the door and eyed his brother with a mix of emotions that Sam didn't want to analyze. Instead he let his eyes drift to the ceiling. At least he was out of the hospital. He wasn't truly safe, even here, but he was much less vulnerable. And somehow he would find a way to make Dean believe him.

Dean flicked off the overhead light, plunging the room into darkness. Minutes gave way to hours and night dissipated into early morning, but neither Winchester slept.

**OOOOOOO**

Dean could sense Sam's increasing restlessness as the dawn approached. He sat up when the slivers of light filled the room, silently going to the bathroom. Dean heard the water run and got up himself with a steadying breath. It was going to be a long day.

Pulling on a clean shirt, Dean mentally prepared himself. He had to get Sam back to the hospital, back to where people could help him, but it was clear his brother wasn't going without a fight. There had to be a way to get Sam to go back. Dean didn't want to physically subdue his brother, though he knew that Sam would hardly be a formidable opponent in his current state.

Still, he did not relish taking advantage of Sam's weakness, especially since he had no idea what physical submission would do to Sam's mental state.

No, he had to convince his brother to go back to the hospital, a task that seemed increasingly difficult. But Sam was clinging to one last hope, one last truth--the pawn shop. Dean was confident that once Sam saw that it wasn't there, that it was just as fake as the voices, as Dominic Neville, and the demon, that Sam would give in and let Dean get him help.

But as Sam came out of the bathroom, his T-shirt hanging off his too-thin frame, his eyes darting nervously about, Dean wondered if Sam would handle the psychological submission any better than physical.

**OOOOOOO**

The night had stretched interminably, but Sam's mind ran too much to sleep. He traced back the events of the last few days, going over them again and again. It all made sense. It all had to make sense. The dreams. The possessions. The voices--the voices everywhere he went--there had to be a reason. It was a demon; Sam didn't know what kind, hadn't heard of anything like this before, but nothing was impossible, not in their line of work. Dean would see. If he could just show Dean the pawn shop, then he'd see, then he'd believe him. Then they could fight this thing, fight it together.

The shower had been a sharp wake up, jerking his groggy senses into full awareness, preparing him for the day. They had a lot of work to do, and the trip to the pawn shop was just the first step of many. Maybe afterwards he'd take Dean to the diner, meet up with Dominic, and then they could hash out what to do next.

He could feel Dean's eyes upon him the minute he exited the bathroom, drilling into him, watching him as though he was going to fall apart at any second.

Dean shadowed Sam's movements, all too aware of his kid brother's shaking hands and over-bright eyes. He looked worse today than even after the seizure, and Dean wanted to be ready in case the collapse that appeared imminent actually occurred.

Sam set the pace, heedless of his brother's concerns. They walked briskly toward the shop. Sam didn't even glance at Dean. "It's just a few more blocks, around the corner from the barber's."

Dean didn't answer, knowing what Sam was going to find but not knowing how he would react when he found it.

They turned the corner and were suddenly faced with an unused lot, its many cracks filled with weeds of varying sizes. There was a "For Sale or Lease" sign dug into the concrete, just past the sidewalk.

Sam stumbled. Dean put an arm out to catch him, but Sam pulled away, pacing off the lot with slow steps. He looked up and around, confirming to himself that he was in the right place, but unable to reconcile what he was seeing with what he had expected to find.

"It has to be here…" Sam said slowly, his eyes roving the vacant lot. "It was here."

Dean tried to be patient, hoping that Sam would be able to put the pieces together. "No, Sam. It's never been here."

Sam shook his head, his breathing ragged. "No. It was here. I went in. I spoke to the man. I—"

"No, Sam." Dean's voice was sorrowful, firm.

Sam stumbled farther into the lot, running a hand through his hair. "It—it has to be here…I know it was…how could it just disappear?"

"It wasn't real."

"No." Sam was in the center of it now, desperately searching for some hint of what he knew had been there.

"Sam…"

"No…."

Dean moved after his brother, a few paces behind. "I'm sorry."

The lot emptiness of the lot reverberated, and Sam spun frantically around, with a flailing passion. "It's a trick. It has to be. A spell, a curse—"

Dean couldn't look at his brother. "Sam…"

"We have to find to out what's doing this," he said with new determination, moving past his brother.

Dean stopped him with a gentle but strong hand, turning him toward him again. As he held Sam's gaze, he felt the tears burning, unshed, in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Sammy."

Sam shook his head again, his own tears spilling unchecked down his cheeks. "Dean, please…" It was his last hope, his last effort.

"We need to help you, little brother."

With Dean's certainty, the tears and fear in his eyes, the fight left Sam completely. "I saw it," he whispered, his words pathetic, broken, his body shaking.

Dean did not waver. "I know you did."

Neither spoke. The dust filtered hazily about them in the morning sun. The elder's will was inflexible, the younger's nonexistent, but they were both broken.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** I was going to wait until tomorrow to post but it's clear that I have no self-control, so I'm posting now. Much gratitude to Gem who really doesn't have time to be online checking fic as she needs to be focusing on her OWN writing (hint, hint!).

**Chapter Fifteen**

Sam didn't resist this time when Dean took him to the hospital. He followed his brother without a word, his head hung low. Dean checked him in, watching him turn over his meager personal belongings before he was assigned a room. The nurse acquainted them both with the ward and its procedures.

Throughout the instructions, Dean tried to be attentive, tried to look interested, but could not stop from noticing the way Sam's eyes had hollowed out and his gaze was as vacant as the lot where he had imagined the pawn shop.

When they were finally left alone, Dean gave the room a more careful look, pausing at its features. "Good view here," he commented, lingering by the window.

Sam was perched on the bed, staring at his lace-less shoes.

Dean swallowed, moving on, fingering the generic furniture. "They say they get cable. HBO even."

Sam said nothing, kept his gaze downward.

Dean chewed the inside of lip, moving around to look at his brother. "Sam, look at me," he said. When Sam didn't move, he squatted, trying to look up into his brother's obscured face. "Sam, you have to listen to me, okay? You're going to be okay. We'll beat this."

But his reassurances sounded weak even to him, and they had no effect on Sam. Sam held his gaze for only a moment before his eyes drifted sadly to the wall.

His mind fumbled for the right thing to say, words to make this easier for both of them. Part of him wanted to apologize, to tell Sam how sorry he was, but it was a lie that he knew wouldn't help his brother. He felt terrible that Sam was in this state--and more than a little guilty for not recognizing the signs and getting Sam help sooner. After all, he was Sam's big brother, his self-proclaimed protector. Sam was his domain, and he of all people should have nipped Sam's breakdown before it happened.

He knew he had failed Sam in many ways, knew he should have offered Sam far more emotion, demanded far more conversation from his kid brother. But that wasn't the betrayal that stung Sam now. And it was an apology that maybe he needed to make, but not now. Because Sam needed to know that he was resolute about this, that Dean had no doubts that bringing Sam here was the right choice.

Sam may have felt betrayed, may have resent his brother, but that was something Dean was willing to swallow if it meant Sam could get better. And he could only hope that Sam would understand in time, that Sam would see that Dean was just trying to make this right.

Dean sighed as he stood, pacing back to the window. "I know this is the middle of nowhere, but the facilities are good. I looked them up online, they've gotten good reviews. And the staff--they seem...nice."

Sam still wouldn't acknowledge him, but he watched as Dean paced the small confines of the room.

"This isn't permanent, Sam. Just temporary. Just until..." his voice trailed off and he turned back to face his brother. "They have visiting hours every day. And you can call me anytime. Day or night. No matter what."

Sam merely laid back on the hospital bed, his faced turned to the wall.

"I'll be back first thing in the morning, Sam. Just...just get some sleep, okay?"

Sam just nodded again, keeping his eyes fixed on the blank wall in front of him. Dean paused awkwardly, wishing there was something else he could say, something to make this easier, something to ease that look of betrayal and emptiness he saw in his brother's eyes. But the words eluded him.

Sam hadn't moved. He lay without speaking, refusing to look or speak to his brother.

Dean sighed. This was going to be harder on both of them than he had anticipated.

**OOOOOOO**

Dean didn't know how to help Sam, but that didn't mean he intended to sit idly by. After asking a few nurses, he managed to find Dr. Ness in his office.

Dr. Ness greeted him cordially. "Mr. Clarke, I'm very glad to hear that you brought Sam back in."

Dean couldn't quite bring himself to smile. "So what exactly are we looking at here?"

"We'll do a more thorough psychiatric evaluation tomorrow, to fully assess the severity of Sam's condition."

Dean tried not to flinch. "How bad do you think he is?"

"Hard to say without a complete evaluation. But given Sam's lack of self-motivation, the agitation, the unbalanced behavior, I think we're looking at a fair amount of unresolved grief and anxiety. Sam was clearly traumatized by the incident involving his girlfriend, and it is fair to assume that the psychological impact of that event has only begun to assert itself. But there is a reason it's called _brief _reactive psychosis. Sam's episode will likely not last long and it is purely his mind's way of dealing with the grief that he's refusing to process. However, he needs a safe and stable environment to move away from his delusions, and then he needs prolonged therapy to help him cope. The first few days are likely to be difficult and I think we can expected some outbursts from Sam within the early weeks here, but with intense therapy, I think Sam can live a happy and productive life."

Dean barely contained his wince at the man's words. _Happy and productive?_ Who knew what that meant to the doctor? Dean doubted it would mean the same for Sam.

"I'd also like you to come in and see someone in the clinic. Do you and Sam have any other family?"

"Our dad--but he's, uh, not around."

The doctor didn't let Dean's glossed over version of the truth slide. "Is there a reason behind that?"

"Well, he's just got...some stuff to take care of."

The doctor nodded. "What about your mother?"

Dean swallowed hard. There was another issue he didn't want to go into. "She died. When Sam was a baby."

"Mmhmm," the doctor noted. "Are you close to any extended family? Any close friends?"

"It was pretty much just the three of us growing up." _Alone in the car and ramshackle motel rooms, learning to shoot and dig up graves._

"And does Sam keep in contact with anyone from school? Anyone related to his girlfriend?"

Dean shook his head tightly. "We've been on our own since...the fire."

"Well, then I think it's especially important that you also be active in Sam's recovery process. He needs a support system, something more than what's he had. I realize that's not always easy, but Sam will need you if his recovery is to be successful."

The idea of seeing a shrink himself sounded about as appealing as having his fingernails removed with tweezers. But this wasn't about him, he reminded himself. This was about Sam. "Yeah, sure," he said. "Whatever is best for Sam."

The doctor smiled. "Good. When you come by tomorrow, we'll see about getting you a consistent appointment, and eventually maybe even some group sessions with you and your brother."

Dr. Ness sounded hopeful, even upbeat, but it made Dean nervous, tore him up inside. Therapy wasn't exactly going to be easy. Any slip of what they really did with their lives, and both he and Sam would be carted off. But Sam needed to deal with Jess' death, and Dean was willing to take that chance if it meant Sam could move on with his life.

He asked the doctor about visitation and learned what Sam's daily schedule would be for the next few days. The doctor promised him a briefing after Sam's first therapy session and told Dean he could call the nursing staff at any time to find out how his brother was doing. He left the doctor with a humble thanks and plans to return to Sam's room one last time, hoping that Sam might say something, that they might part on better terms, before Dean left for the night.

**OOOOOOO**

Sam didn't like the wall color. It was too nondescript to be soothing and the uneven layers of paint seemed to suggest a faltering facade of peace and safety.

The thought of safety made Sam scoff. He wasn't any safer here than anywhere else. Whatever it was, it was still out there.

_No, it wasn't real_.

Sam's mind tried to reconcile what he felt, what he saw with the sad knowledge in Dean's eyes. It felt so real--the pawn shop, Dominic, the voices...

But Dean would never lie to him, not when it mattered. Sam trusted his brother completely and implicitly, and had relied on Dean in nearly every possible way during their time hunting together.

He had never understood the depth of Dean's devotion before he left, but in the months that had followed since Jessica's death, he had seen a new side of Dean emerge. A vulnerable side, a scared side. Dean didn't show it often, and he tried to cover it when he did, but Sam could feel it now, sense it under the interactions they shared. Dean wasn't as different from him as he had once thought.

He had always struggled against being the baby of the family, and all that it entailed. Dean had been constantly overprotective of Sam when he was a teen, often trying to keep Sam from harm either by throwing himself in front of his kid brother or by relegating Sam to some sidelined role, both of which Sam had always resented. But more than that, Sam had resented his brother's ready acquiescence, his ability to give up everything for his father and obey without question. He had thought it a weakness for years.

But Dean didn't obey for his own sake. He obeyed for the family, for the greater good, for him.

Dean always had his best interests at heart, even above his own. In the past eight months, Dean had saved him countless times. From Bloody Mary, the shapeshifter, the poltergeist in Lawrence, the tulpa, the shtriga. He trusted Dean with his life day in and day out, and Dean had never failed him.

So if Dean believed that this was all a delusion, that Sam needed to stay here, that it wasn't _real_...

Sam drew a shuddering breath. "It's not real," he whispered to the wall. Dean wouldn't lie to him.

_Betrayer_.

He didn't flinch, just squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw tight. _It's not real, it's not real, it's not real_.

_You are the betrayer._

The voice was louder more insistent. He could feel it inside of him. His breath quickened. _Dean said..._

The voice let out a low cackle. _You are mine_.

This wasn't happening. They weren't real. Dean had shown him, Dean, Dean. He needed Dean. _notrealnotrealnotreal..._

_You cannot escape._

Sam tried to deny it, tried to convince himself it wasn't there. "No. Not real."

The laughter encompassed him, filled him, and he felt himself panicking. Real or not, he had to get out of here. He had to find Dean.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: **EEK! I meant to post this earlier--I really did. But somewhere between repainting my kitchen, hanging out with my husband, and dealing with a headache, I kind of forgot. So, my apologies! I'm kind of curious to see how you all respond to this chapter...Anyway, as always, everything good I write comes from Gem, who alone is the only person who could make me write humor and stay away from speculation on S2, both of which are impressive feats :)

**Chapter Sixteen**

Dean could already navigate Sam's ward with ease, and found his baby brother's room quickly after leaving the doctor's office. He had felt somewhat reassured after talking to the doctor, and had hoped that his own reassurance could assuage some of Sam's doubts and fears.

When he entered Sam's room, though, all thoughts of conversation were replaced with the need to act. There were people in Sam's room--one leaning over his kid brother and giving him some sort of shot while another, clearly larger man, was forcibly restraining the him.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" Dean asked, charging forward.

The burly nurse who had been holding Sam moved toward Dean as he approached, holding him at bay. "Please, sir, just let us work."

The answer hardly satisfied Dean. "Work? What are you doing to him?"

Another nurse he didn't recognize recapped a syringe before disposing it. She gave Sam a brief look before moving back toward Dean. "It's okay, Alex. Let him go."

Alex relaxed his grip, moving away slightly, but standing protectively by the other nurse's side.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "What's going on?"

"Mr. Clarke, don't worry. Sam became agitated as we prepared him for bed--"

"Yeah, and that's why he's here. To help him get his grip back on reality," Dean said, straining to glance over their shoulders to get a glimpse of his baby brother. Sam had stilled on the bed, his chest still heaving, but slowly falling to a steady rhythm.

"He was insisting on leaving and we were worried he may hurt himself so we sedated him."

Dean's gaze shifted angrily back to the nurse. "Sedated him? Why? He needs therapy, not drugs."

"We can't help Sam if he's hurting himself."

"He just felt anxiety at being left alone!" Dean exploded. "He just needed someone to talk to him, to calm him down--"

"Such irrational anxiety will hinder his progress. Keeping him well rested is a vital part of his recovery plan, the plan that you agreed to."

"I didn't agree to anyone giving my brother drugs!"

"I assure you, this was just a mild sedative. He'll be asleep for a few hours, and there won't be any side effects. This is a normal procedure."

The nurse's voice was soothing, and while Dean felt his flash of anger subsiding, his worry reasserted itself steadily. "Well, I'm not really a huge fan of _normal_." Dean paced to Sam's bed, putting an anxious hand to his brother's face. Sam's eyes had slid shut and his head lolled off the pillow. Dean gently pulled the pillow back into position and settled the covers higher over Sam's chest.

He was starting to doubt if bringing Sam here had been the right choice at all.

Dean let himself be guided back to the hallway, where he found Dr. Ness moving toward him. "Is there a problem, Mr. Clarke?"

"Yeah, they're drugging up my kid brother."

Dr. Ness glanced at the nurse, who held out the vial. "Just the sedative. Sam was becoming agitated, trying to leave. It's well within operating procedure."

Dr. Ness nodded and smiled. "Thank you, Wendy. Let me have a word with Mr. Clarke alone, please."

She nodded politely and continued down the hall.

Dean was staring hard at the doctor, waiting.

"I promise you, the sedative your brother was given was mild."

"I don't care. I never said you could drug him."

"I understand that. However, you did give the hospital discretion to use the means necessary to help your brother heal from his emotional trauma. I am more than happy to discuss his treatment with you, but you have to trust in the staff's judgement regarding Sam's care. _You _brought Sam here because you felt it was best for Sam."

"Yeah, well, maybe I was wrong," Dean snapped.

The doctor breathed evenly. "I understand your frustrations. Watching a loved one go through this is difficult. And I didn't know you or Sam felt so strongly against drugs."

"The kid...has always had nightmares. He needs to be able to wake up," Dean explained softly.

Dr. Ness nodded. "Okay. Why don't we see how Sam sleeps tonight and revisit this conversation after I assess Sam tomorrow? Sedatives are a temporary way to help Sam relax so his body can recuperate. Right now the physical toll of Sam's condition is negatively effecting his psychological condition. I apologize if you object to the sedative, but you've seen what happens when Sam doesn't get the rest he needs."

Dean thought about Sam on the bathroom floor, convulsing, and his will softened. "I think I should stay with him," he said, glancing back through the small window on the door. "Just for tonight, to make sure he's okay."

Dr. Ness smiled sympathetically. "That's a common sentiment in this kind of situation. But I guarantee you, Sam will be just fine. Our facilities are secure and we will have staff monitoring consistently. Sam needs to get better, and he's not going to be able to do that on his own. Trust me."

Trusting anyone outside of his family came about as naturally as letting Sam drive the Impala. He ground his teeth. Sam _did_ need to be here, that much was certain. Dean could barely give voice to a real emotion and handling a nervous breakdown or brief reactive psychosis or whatever fancy name they gave it seemed more than somewhat out of his league. Still, he couldn't just leave Sammy here, especially when he couldn't trust the staff to know all the details of Sam's...condition. "Fine. But I want to see him for a few minutes before I leave," Dean said purposefully. He leveled his gaze at the doctor. "Alone."

Dr. Ness seemed to weigh his options. "Okay. Visiting hours are over, so it has to be short," he agreed. "We really are going to look after Sam. You have to believe that."

Dean said nothing and brushed passed the doctor into Sam's room.

Once inside, he pulled the door shut behind him and sighed heavily.

He needed to keep it together, for Sam's sake.

Luckily, he wasn't out of options. He moved to his brother's bedside once again, assuring himself that Sam was asleep.

"It's okay, Sam," he said softly, letting his hand run lightly through Sam's hair. "I can't stay, but I'm not leaving you alone, okay? So you can just rest easy."

He moved to his bag, which was still deposited in the chair. Sifting through it, he retrieved the surveillance camera with a satisfied smirk. "Told you this wouldn't be a waste. Night vision and all."

Quietly, he dragged a chair to the corner, standing on it to mount the camera discretely. Maneuvering the cables, soon he had it set up.

He would have liked to check it, make sure it was transmitting, but he didn't have the time for that. So he checked the wires again before dismounting the chair.

Going through his bag again, he pulled out a protection charm. It wasn't salt, but he couldn't very well salt the doorways of Sam's hospital room without arousing some suspicion. But his father had acquired this particular charm from a contact on the East Coast, and Dean could remember it hanging many nights on the window in the room he would often share with Sam. It looked like a sun catcher, with small panes of stained glass. He didn't know what each pane represented, but he knew that it repelled a wide array of nasty things, which was exactly the kind of coverage Dean wanted, just to be sure. After all, Sam never was very good at avoiding problems, and the last thing he needed was for something to find his brother alone and doped up in a hospital room.

He positioned it carefully over the window on Sam's door. Besides, it would be something Sam recognized as safety, which would help provide the security of mind that Sam needed to recover.

Moving to Sam's side again, he tried to smile at his brother's sleeping form. "See? I can watch you all night long."

His attempt at a smile faded with Sam's lack of response. He sighed, and gathered his bag together.

"Sleep well, little brother," he whispered, ghosting his hand over his brother's forehead again before heading toward the door. He turned and gave his brother one last look before exiting the room and shutting the door quietly behind him.

With a request for the hospital staff to call him if there was any change at all with Sam, he left.

**OOOOOOO**

Manipulating the controls, Dean worked the equipment until the view of Sam's room came into focus. He felt a surge of relief at the sight of his brother, still secure and sound in the dark hospital room. Sam was still asleep under the covers.

A sliver of light filtered through Sam's door, catching the tinted glass of the protection charm hanging from the window frame.

The soft colored light splayed across his brother's sleeping form, assuring Dean again of Sam's security and illuminating his brother's even breathing.

Feeling his anxiety dissipating somewhat, he settled back into the chair, taking a sip of his coffee. It occurred to him that he hadn't thought through his plan for the night.

It hadn't necessarily been his intention to keep watch over Sam throughout the entire night, but he knew it was going to be impossible to sleep. The room felt empty without Sam and his mind refused to calm down with the thought of Sam in a foreign bed, drugged and alone.

However, staring at the small screen all night was hardly something his sleep-strained eyes could handle, so he pulled out his father's journal and began perusing, looking for nothing in particular, and prepared for a long night.

As much as he tried to focus on his father's words, his eyes kept straying back to the picture of Sam on the bed. It had not changed much; apparently the drugs had kept Sam's sleep unusually deep and his brother slept without tossing and turning.

Only an hour or two had passed, and Dean spent the time with the journal open on his lap, but his eyes on the screen more often than not. It made him feel connected to Sam, helped him not feel the void in the motel room where Sam should have been. And the peacefulness of Sam's sleep eased his conscience somewhat, helped relieve the doubt that the hospital was in fact the best place for Sam.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, he noticed something was off.

Sam seemed to stiffen in the bed, his body becoming somewhat rigid under the sheets. His head jerked to the side and Dean could see his brother's chest hitch. Dean swore. He'd been worried about Sam having a nightmare while sedated.

Sam's forehead creased as he tossed his head from side to side. _This was not good._

Just as he reached for his phone to call the hospital and have someone check on Sam, something flashed on the screen.

Dean blinked, trying to gauge if he had imagined it. It wasn't there now, but as he studied the screen, he noticed Sam's breathing slowing and his features relaxing back into sleep.

Nightmares didn't pass that quickly. Something else was off.

He paused his recording, switching the reel to rewind. He played again, his eyes trained carefully on the screen.

There it was again--a brief flash, a flicker by Sam's bedside.

He rewound it again, this time playing it in slow motion.

"Son of a…." Dean's voice trailed off as he re-watched the footage. There, beside Sam, was a distorted patch of air. It was nearly imperceptible, and he almost missed it, but as he watched it again, it was unmistakable.

Something _was _after Sam. The truth hit him like a punch in the gut. Given Sam's reaction to the presence in the room, he could only deduce that _that_ was responsible for Sam's erratic behavior.

Dean swore again. Sam was being attacked by something and Dean had had him committed. His failure to accurately treat the situation cut Dean deeply, as did the knowledge that he had betrayed Sam on a level he couldn't even comprehend. The defeat in Sam's eyes--all because he hadn't believed him, he hadn't done his job.

He couldn't change what he'd done. But he sure as hell wasn't going to leave Sam in there a minute longer.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** Sorry this has taken forever to post! This site hates me sometimes! Anyway, I'm glad you're all relieved with the way the last chapter turned out. But I could never let things be easy...As always with gratitude to Gem!

**Chapter Seventeen**

With the Impala still out of commission, Dean knew he was going to need another form of transportation. New Junction was small, but the hospital was far enough away, and Dean didn't want to leave Sam alone any longer than he already had. Plus, hauling his half-sedated, taller brother across town did _not _seem like something that would be easy or fun.

In the parking lot, he observed the meager smattering of dilapidated cars. It was late, and all the lights were out in the motel, as were the lights in the pizza place across the street and the cafe next door. Without making a sound, Dean went to the closest door, testing its handle.

He smiled.

The handle gave and the door opened with a creak. "Gotta love small towns," he said, sidling into the driver's seat.

He hot-wired the car with relative ease and drove toward the hospital without heed.

He parked outside a side entrance to the hospital, knowing that the nurses and doctors probably wouldn't be too keen on him breaking Sam out in the middle of the night. He stalked soundlessly through the halls, sneaking his way passed the night nurses on the Psych ward. With a careful glance up and down the hallway, he found Sam's room and slipped inside.

Quickly, he moved to his brother's side. "Sammy. Sam, wake up," he said in a rushed whisper, shaking his brother's shoulder.

Sam turned away from him, mumbling something.

Dean threw back the covers. "Come on, Sam."

Not waiting for his brother to reply, Dean began pulling Sam into a sitting position, hoping to wake his brother as he plotted their escape. He muttered a curse as Sam flopped bonelessly against him. _Why did they have to sedate him?_

Sam's eyes opened to slits and Dean tried to smile. "Time to wake up," he coaxed, propping Sam up against the headboard. "We need to make tracks, bro, before the doctors come back."

Sam fluttered just above sleep. "...Dean...?"

It was more a guess than recognition, but it still made Dean grin. "Yeah, Sammy. You need to wake up now," he said, rummaging around for Sam's shoes.

"...s'posed to sleep...ya told me..."

"Yeah, usually, Sammy," he said, moving to maneuver Sam's feet into the shoes. "But we need to get out of here before I let you rest, okay?"

"...not s'posed to go...," Sam murmured, his head dropping to his chest. "...promised..."

"I know, I know," he muttered. "Of all the times to take an order, Sammy, now isn't it."

With Sam's shoes on his feet, Dean gathered Sam's small bag of things, yanking the camera off the wall and the charm off the window, and shouldered it before returning to Sam. He slid his brother's legs off to the side, taking the weight of Sam's upper body as he did. Sam's head rolled against his shoulder, and Dean whispered into his hair, "Come on, Sammy. Get up for me."

Sam mumbled incoherently and managed to lift his head. "Dean...'sit morning?"

"Not quite, but we've got to get going," Dean coaxed. "Do you think you can stand?"

Sam didn't reply but as Dean pulled him upright, Sam's legs managed to keep him up, though he leaned heavily against his brother.

"Good. Now, we've got to walk, okay?" he said, as he guided Sam toward the door. When they got to the door, Dean paused, peeking through the small window. The hallway was empty. The nighttime staff was substantially smaller than the daytime, and Dean had seen the nurses sweep through Sam's ward just before he snuck in. He figured they had about five minutes to get clear of the hallway, which would be their biggest obstacle.

He glanced at Sam, whose head kept slipping forward and back on his neck. Sam's limbs were clearly sluggish and he wasn't fully coherent, but he seemed to be taking orders pretty well, and his legs still seemed to move him at a decent clip. "We're going to have to be quick, okay? Quick and quiet."

With great effort, Sam turned his head to his brother. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on his brother's face. "...mmmmstealthy?"

"Yeah, Sam," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "Stealthy. Can you handle that?"

"...ssssure," Sam said, just as his head flopped forward again.

Dean sighed. Sam was as ready as he was going to be without giving him another four hours to sleep off the sedative. Checking the hallway one more time, he adjusted his grip around Sam's waist before opening the door.

**OOOOOOO**

It wasn't until Dean had managed to get Sam back to the motel that Dean realized just how exhausted he was. He had left the car in the same spot he'd found it, and half-dragged Sam back into the motel room. Once inside, he let Sam drop into the bed, and he flopped breathlessly on the other, trying to catch his breath.

Sam fell back to sleep instantly and didn't move, didn't even pull his legs from off the floor.

Dean watched his baby brother and could not help but feeling somewhat relieved. Sam _wasn't_ crazy. Something _was_ after him. He hadn't blamed Sam for his breakdown, but it had scared him. Of all the enemies he had faced, the idea of Sam falling apart emotionally had frightened more than anything else.

With a sigh, he made his way to his brother's bed, repositioning Sam until he was lying more comfortably on the pillows. Sam may not be emotionally unhinged for all the reasons the doctor figured, but he was still in danger.

Sam mumbled during his ministrations, his eyes blinking blearily at his brother. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy. You need to go back to bed."

Sam's eyes drifted slowly open and closed. "...you leavin' 'gain?"

"No, Sam," he said softly. "I'm not going anywhere."

A smile ghosted across Sam's lips and his eyes closed again.

"Yeah, sleep now, kiddo," he soothed. "I'm going to figure this thing out, okay?"

Sam didn't reply, and Dean smoothed his hair gently.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he said. "I should have believed you all along."

Sam slept on.

"But I'm going to take of it now. I'll make this better."

**OOOOOOO**

Usually Dean didn't take to intense research. That had always been Sam's preference, and Dean had been more than happy to let him handle that part of the hunt. But, despite Dean's groans, he did know his way around the Internet and a library. His attention span for such things tended to be short and sporadic, punctuated by frequent jokes to whomever he could find. But this time was different. This time the weight of what he was hunting pressed on him and drove him to doggedness. This time it was personal.

Dean had already exhausted his usual resources, but his search had been so broad before, not nearly specific enough. He still didn't know exactly what he was dealing with, but there were a few more clues he could take into consideration.

He pulled out the protection charm he had left on Sam's door. It hadn't deterred whatever it was, but it had certainly affected it.

The charm looked like a simple glass mosaic to the untrained eye, but Dean knew that each uniquely shaped and colored section was designed to focus on different supernatural entities. While Dean knew that, he hated to admit that he couldn't remember which color repelled what, and he needed to figure out which pane had shed light on the thing in Sam's room.

With a sigh, he turned back to his monitoring equipment. Rewinding the footage, he found the spot where he had first noticed that something was off.

He let the images play and watched as Sam slept on in peaceful drugged sleep. It was Sam's breathing that he noticed first, a sudden dramatic increase in the rise and fall of his chest. It was followed by the rapid movement behind Sam's eyelids and the subtle tensing of his body under the sheets.

Then it was there--no more than a blur by Sam's bedside--an inexplicable but clear distortion. Most people would write it off as a glitch in the tape, but Dean knew better. The patch of blurred air was too specific. It lasted only a second before it disappeared and Sam's sleep returned to normal.

Dean hit the rewind button and played the footage again, this time in slow motion.

As the frames slipped by, he noticed the shapes of the light on Sam's body. The charm caught the light and tinted it in patches. Whatever it was, when it walked in the light, its existence was disrupted, its presence brought clearly to visibility.

He paused it as it flashed, catching the image on the screen. He studied it, observed the ray of light that had caught it, the one that had brought it to life.

Picking up the charm, he looked carefully at it. Then he looked again at the image.

The edges of the light on the image were jagged and five pointed--a star.

Dean glanced again at the charm. In one corner as a small star-shaped piece of glass, shaded light blue. "Bingo," Dean muttered. "So what is it about this one that brings you to the light?"

He flipped through the journal, looking for his father's entry on this particular charm he had acquired. He found the diagram and the explanation for each piece.

_A Celtic Star: used for centuries to deter demonic entities. The blessed tempered glass comes from the northern regions of Ireland. Often used on church entryways to ward of possessed persons._

Celtic--his mind worked. Sam had mentioned seeing Celtic relics at the pawn shop.

But the pawn shop wasn't real. That much was for sure, even Sam had been convinced on that point. But it was too much of a coincidence. What if whatever it was that was controlling Sam was somehow revealing itself to Sam? Sam had been confident that there was a connection to the relics, and with the charm being of Celtic origin...maybe Sam had been right.

And if Sam was right about one thing, maybe he was right about more than that. Dean thought, trying to remember everything else Sam had pieced together about his attacker.

_It moves in and out. It's everywhere._

_That's what it wants. It wants to make me crazy._

_It's a demon_.

Ultimately, Sam had been adamant on that point. Even if Sam wasn't in his right mind about everything, his brother's deductive skills were impeccable. And if the demon was strong enough, old enough, it wouldn't be completely kept out the charm, but would still be effected by it.

Dean recounted Sam's symptoms again. The random and rapid possessions. The hallucinations. Clearly this demon could practice some form of intimate mind control, showing Sam things that no one else could see.

His research had been too wide before, too general. Clearly he was dealing with something very specific and, if Dean guessed right, very powerful. But now he had more to go on, more variables to consider. A non-corporeal demon of Celtic origin. It was still a long shot, but it was definitely something to work with.

Rubbing his eyes, he leaned over the computer and began his search.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **The only way I'm getting this chapter out before Wednesday evening, is if I post it now. While I really don't like what I have now, I also want to get this out ASAP, so I'm posting despite my better judgment on the quality of the writing. I hope this chapter works decently and doesn't totally destroy what I was building, but whatever--at this point I've just got to go for it. Much thanks as always to Gem.

**Chapter Eighteen**

Dean researched until dawn and fell asleep as the sun was still low in the sky. By the time morning had come fully into itself, he was sprawled awkwardly in the chair.

He awakened with a crick his neck and an ache in his back in the morning sunlight.

He forgot his stiffness, however, as the events of the previous night came sharply back into his memory--Sam and the demon.

One of those things he could deal with later. The other, he had to deal with now.

He stood rigidly, grimacing as his back protested. It was nearly noon, and Dean knew the sedatives in Sam's system should have worn off by now. He never liked it when Sam was incapacitated in any way, but he couldn't say he was eager to deal with explaining the truth to Sam, not after everything that had happened. Part of him feared that was had been broken by all of this, and Dean didn't know if he could assuage the emptiness he had seen in Sam's eyes.

But no matter what Sam's mental state was, Dean needed to be there for Sam, and he needed to move ahead in conquering the demon that started this.

As he approached Sam, he saw his brother stir, rolling toward him. He opened his eyes. "Dean?"

Dean sat on the opposite bed, leaning down to be in Sam's field of vision. Purposefully, he plastered a smile across his face. "Hey there, Sunshine."

Sam licked his dry lips, trying to ease the cottony feeling in his mouth. He squinted in the daylight. "...this a dream?"

"Nope. This is the real thing."

"Why am I not in the hospital?"

"Busted you out, that's why. And you're heavy, Sam, especially when you're doped up."

Sam's brow creased deeply as he tried to make sense of it. He remembered the hospital, remembered it vividly, but he also remembered the pawn shop, Dominic... "But I thought...it wasn't real? Is this real?"

Dean felt his lightheartedness give. Sam's grip on reality had seemed uncertain before, but ever since Dean had first disbelieved, Sam had seemed to fold into himself. To see Sam so unsure, so confused--it was difficult to deal with. He only hoped he could buoy his brother's mental acuity up again with his renewed faith. "This is real. It was all real, Sam. Well, the pawn shop, the things you saw, Dominic--they may not exist like you'd think, but they're no illusion, not for you."

Sam slowly pushed himself up. "What do you mean?"

"Come here," he said, with a nod to the surveillance equipment. "Let me show you something."

Sam tentatively pushed himself out of bed and followed his brother to the monitor. The tape was cued and Dean played it.

"Sam, you were right."

Surprised colored Sam's face; his wide eyes revealed suspicious uncertainty.

"Look. Right there. See the imprint? I did some research. It's a demon all right."

Blankly, Sam looked from the recording up to his brother, his mouth somewhat open.

"You were right, Sammy," Dean repeated, trying to convince his brother. "Something's after you, in that freaky little head of yours."

Sam's brow crinkled again. Dean had been so adamant before, that it was all in his head, and Sam had trusted his brother's word over his own sense of reality. The sudden shift in his brother's thoughts made his mind reel. "You mean...I'm not..."

"Not crazy. Least no crazier than usual," Dean said.

"But...you said..." Sam remembered the empty lot, the blank card, Dean checking him in to the hospital. _It's not real, Sam._

Dean looked away, hoping to hide his guilt. "I know what I said, Sam." He paused.Showingworry and fault was not somethinghe was good at, buthe needed to do it now. He met his brother's eyes."I should have believed you. There was--just no evidence, and I didn't know what to think. I was worried, and I made the wrong call on this one."

Sam shook his head slowly. This didn't make sense. _It's not real, Sam. We've got to help you, little brother. _Sam felt himself pulling away, trying to hide within himself. He remembered the small hospital room, the doctor, the nurses, the sedatives. "This is a dream. You're just trying to confuse me. Dean said I needed to stay in the hospital--"

"Sam, stop. I know what I said before. But that was before all this," Dean insisted. "Trust me. _This_ is real."

"But then why did you take me to the hospital? How do I know that was real?"

Dean contained his frustration, gritting his teeth. He needed Sam with him on this one, but clearly more damage had been done to Sam than he cared to admit. _I should have believed him sooner._ "You're going to have to trust me. I'm sorry for what's happened, for you not knowing what to believe, but believe me now. This is not a dream. You have to believe it, because I believe you."

Sam studied him, looked for any sign that this Dean would turn on him, vanish into nothingness like his other dreams and visions. But the scene was unchanging, even after a long pause, and Sam had no other choice but to trust in it. The questions--_why had Dean put him in the hospital, why hadn't Dean believed him then_--could wait, had to wait. It was easier to deal with the supernatural problem rather than the emotional one. Sam reached down and rewound the footage, playing it again. "What is it?"

Dean reached to his notes, almost relieved for the change in topic. "Well, I think I've found it. It's a demon. It's non-corporeal and ancient, from the looks of it. That's why it's able to move in and out of things, why it's able to get around without anyone seeing it."

Sam chewed his bottom lip. "But don't even non-corporeal demons usually have some point of reference, some safe haven where they would spend most of their time?"

"Usually. Unless something draws it out."

Dean held Sam's gaze and understanding passed between them that neither of them could give voice to.

Sam pressed his lips together thinly. "Wouldn't it go back, though, return there? Even a strong demon would want someplace safe to recuperate."

"Right. From what I can tell this is a Celtic forest demon. They usually stalk the backwoods and are pretty elusive. There have only been about three recorded interactions with humans that I can identify."

"And what happened?"

"Well, in two, the victims are just described as hearing voices and then progressing into madness before killing themselves. But they insisted something was after them, all the way until the end. There's one recorded case, though, of a priest in England who caught one. He claimed to exorcise it, but the Church didn't believe him. He was excommunicated and never heard from again."

"So they can be caught."

"And exorcised."

"But we've got to find the exorcism."

"Already on it," Dean said, reaching for their father's journal. "I think I've found something that will work. Any exorcism powerful enough to do what we want is going to take awhile, so we have to make the thing visible in order to be able to pin it down long enough to complete it."

"How do we hold it down?"

Dean shrugged, hiding his nervousness. It was never easy to put Sam in danger, and he hated to have to do it after all of this. "We have to give it what it wants."

Sam pursed his lips. "Me."

"If we can preoccupy it, we can finish the first part. Once that thing is corporeal, we'll have a much easier time keeping that thing in one place. Which leaves only one question: how do we find it?"

Sam's face was grim. "We don't have to. It'll find me."

**OOOOOOO**

Sam had insisted on looking through the journal, double-checking Dean's exorcisms and his conclusions. Dean watched as Sam stared at the screen for a minute. Then his kid brother's eyes would lose focus and his head would drift down toward his chest before Sam jerked it up again.

After about the fifth time, Dean said, "You might be more comfortable on the bed."

Sam looked blearily at him, his brow knitted. "I can't fall asleep."

"Sam--"

"Don't let me fall asleep, Dean. Please. I don't want to dream anymore."

"Sammy, you're still exhausted. Demon or not, you need you rest."

Sam shook his head with pleading eyes on his brother. "Please."

"It comes when you're asleep. And we are trying to lure it here."

"It comes if I'm awake or asleep."

"So it shouldn't matter if you're asleep or awake and you'll feel better if you sleep."

Sam looked desperate, his fear completely unhidden in his pale features. "Please."

Dean let out a low laugh. He couldn't bring himself to force his brother into something again, not after being so wrong about it before.. "I can't wait until this is all over and you can finally get some real rest, bro."

With that, Sam looked away. "Yeah," he said. "Me too."

Dean raised his eyebrows and turned his attention back to the TV. This time Sam deserved to make his own decision. Besides, it looked like sleep was getting the better of his baby brother after all, as Sam's head fell forward again. This time it took Sam longer to raise it and Dean saw less coherency in Sam's eyes as he did. It was only a matter of time.

**OOOOOOO**

He could feel the electricity in the air. He could smell it.

The smell was pervasive. It was the first thing he noticed as he went back downstairs.

It smelled like burnt flesh. And he would know. He'd burned enough bones to know.

"Dean!"

There was no answer, not a sound, just the buzzing of fading energy dissipating in the dank air.

And Dean was pale, he was crumpled, he was limp. Paler, more crumpled, more limp than Sam has ever seen him.

He couldn't feel his jeans soaking through as he waded in after his brother. He couldn't feel the clamminess of Dean's flesh as his head flopped in his hands. He couldn't hear the panic in his own voice, couldn't hear anything over the deafening silence and stillness that emitted from his brother.

_You failed him, you left him and he died. You killed him. Again. And again. And again. _

He felt for a pulse, looked for a sign of life.

_You're my brother and I'd die for you. _

_I'd die for you._

_Then why didn't you, Sammy? Why didn't you?_

Sam stumbled away, falling into the water. Dean stood over him like an apparition, his ghost as gray as his body.

"You left me, Sammy. You left me and it killed me."

"No, Dean, I--"

"You killed me."

"No--"

"Betrayer."

Sam shook his head, desperately, opened his mouth to speak but nothing came.

Dean knelt in front of him, narrowing his glowing eyes. "You are the betrayer."

Sam couldn't move as Dean reached a pale, wispy hand out to him. He wanted to pull away but found himself immobilized by his brother's eyes.

"You are mine."

**OOOOOOO**

Dean had watched as Sam's head drifted again to his chest and stayed there. For a second, he considered honoring Sam's request and prodding his brother awake, or at least moving Sam to the bed where he could be more comfortable. But Sam looked beyond exhausted--he looked dead on his feet, and Dean knew that if Sam was going to be any help at all when the demon finally came, he would need to be much better rested. As it was, he hated Sam to be in the middle of it all. The idea of Sam as bait never did sit well with him.

Sam had only been asleep for a few seconds when Dean noticed something was off. He heard Sam drag in a rough breath and for a second Dean thought Sam was merely waking up, but as he studied his brother, he noticed Sam tensing but his head stayed down. He was dreaming.

Dean straightened immediately. _Is it the demon?_

He hadn't expected it so early; though it had stalked Sam at all times of the day, it seemed to most prefer to visit Sam's dreams at night, and Dean had hoped that its run in with the Celtic symbol would have dampened its motivation to attack again.

With Sam asleep, Dean knew he had to check for the demon himself. Carefully, he leaned forward, grasping his own bottle of holy water. He unscrewed the cap and splashed the contents towards his brother.

Nothing.

He tried again.

The droplets found no purchase. _So maybe this one's just a nightmare._

If there was no demon present, there was nothing to exorcise. But there was still Sam's nightmare to deal with. Just as he moved to rouse his brother, Sam jerked away with a startled gasp, his eyes wide and terrified.

"Sammy?"

"Dean, no, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sam let out in a rush, his words blurring together in a frantic plea.

"Hey, Sam, slow down," he said.

Sam turned his eyes to him, filled with tears. "I didn't mean to--I'm sorry--please, I'm sorry--"

"Sorry for what? Sammy, it was a dream."

"I killed you. I betrayed you. I--" Sam dissolved into tears.

Dean watched, slack-jawed, uncertain of what to do. Clumsily he reached forward, letting a hand rest on Sam's arm.

Sam flinched and tried to pull away.

"Sam, it was a dream. Okay? The demon, remember?"

Sam swallowed a sob and looked up. "The demon?"

"Yeah. The one that's after you."

The knowledge registered slowly in Sam's mind. "Is it...here?"

"No. Not that I can see."

"But then..."

"Sam, it's already been in your mind. Who's to say what kind of suggestions it's already left in there that work without its presence?"

Sam wiped his nose. "Why...why did you let me fall asleep?"

Dean sighed and leaned back on the bed. "You need it. Besides, you had barely been out for a minute when the dream started. Whatever's going on, the effects are getting stronger."

Sam nodded distantly, trying to regain control of his breathing. "It's so real, Dean," he whispered, a hint of horror in his voice. "It's so real."

Pursing his lips, Dean tried not to show the depth of his concern. "I know. Which is why we're killing this thing. Whatever it wants, it's bound to come back and attack you again. So we'll be prepared. We'll send this thing back to hell where it won't bother anyone. Okay?"

Sam couldn't meet Dean's eyes.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah," he said, his voice flat. "Okay."


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Another chapter! Glad the last one didn't make everyone run away screaming. This chapter is dedicated to iluvsmallville, the most recent SFTCOL(AR)S initiate--she's proud to be pimping the limp :) Anyway, do I even need to thank Gem? Is it not implied? She is my one and only beta and my sanity and virtually everything to me. She's my other half, my better half, she's me. Where you see me, you see her. I simply do not exist without her. Also, props to Lauren for the insight into accurate supernatural foes. I still took some liberties but anything that really makes any sense is thanks to her expertise :)

**Chapter Nineteen**

With a determined breath, Dean opened his book and made sure both passages were tagged before settling into the chair. His eyes burned from a lack of sleep, and the darkness was alluring, but he kept his focus, his gaze steady on Sam.

Sam had been reluctant to get into the bed, but Dean finally convinced him that the guise of sleep would probably have the strongest appeal to the demon. Plus, he figured there was an off chance Sam might actually get some sleep.

But Sam was too nervous to sleep, and he twitched uncomfortably under the covers.

The minutes passed. Sam hovered somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Every time his mind started to drift away, he jerked himself awake, refusing to give his mind the possibility of dreaming.

Dean occupied himself by mentally recounting all the weapons in his arsenal. When he was out of mental ammo, he let his mind drift to Sam and all the things they'd been through in the last year.

He'd been so relieved in so many ways to have Sam with him again, to have Sam nearby where he could protect him, where he could make sure he was okay. Being apart from Sam was hell--not knowing if his brother was okay, not knowing if he needed some kind of help.

But, his brother was haunted, and Dean had been avoiding it since he'd pulled Sam from his apartment in Palo Alto. In his mind's eye, Dean could still see Jessica on the ceiling, but it was only a fleeting memory. All his attention had been on Sam. But he had neglected to remember that all of Sam's attention had been on Jess.

The demon didn't make the memory of Jess or the ache of her loss haunt Sam. The demon just kept Sam from knowing how to hide it.

Dean sighed. Despite his knowledge that Sam hadn't imagined all of it, he still doubt his brother's ability to cope when the demon finally did show itself. Sam was still weak physically, and his most recent nightmare had left him jittery and distracted.

This needed to end now, or else Dean wasn't sure what would be left of Sam's sanity to save.

Sam inhaled sharply, his body stiffening. With a flash, he threw back the covers, sending up a spray of holy water. Where the droplets found purchase, the demon sizzled to visibility.

Dean began the incantation without hesitation, Latin pouring off his tongue in choppy waves.

Sam's body tensed as he moved to throw himself at the demon. But as its image flickered in front of him, the eyes came to life, transfixing his own with a penetrating stare.

The demon snarled, lashing out at Dean, sending him crashing out of the chair without ever taking his gaze from Sam.

Sam blanked, pain and numbness throbbing through him. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, his mouth was open in a soundless scream.

The force jarred Dean, but he kept his eyes focused, his voice steady. He pulled himself to his knees, still chanting, faster now as he saw the demon advancing on Sam.

From its black robes, a bony, ethereal hand ascended to Sam's brow.

**OOOOOOO**

Sam's fingers grasped the bottle of holy water but before he could move to fling it, coldness lanced through his mind. _You think you can defeat me, Betrayer?_

The whispers were paralyzing. _You have killed so many, but you will not be able to kill that which you hunt._

Sam felt something tug at him harshly, jarring the bottle from his hands and making it fall uselessly to the ground. _Surrender, Betrayer_.

Sam gritted his teeth. He had to do his part, he had to help Dean.

He could hear his brother distantly, mumbled phrases in Latin rolling of his tongue.

_You are mine. You will fail him just as you always do. _

Sam tried to shake his head, tried to resist the growing coldness as it overtook him.

_Betrayer._

Sam shook his head, sinking down onto the bed. The images flooded him. Jessica, burning on the ceiling. Dean, lying under his angry aim.

_Betrayer._

Then Dean's eyes glowed below him, filling with rage and vengeance. He couldn't move as his brother thrashed suddenly, downing Sam and rolling on top, a grin on his face and his hands about Sam's neck. As Sam struggled for air, his brother's face leaned down maliciously, words dripping like venom from his lips. "You don't deserve to live, Betrayer."

**OOOOOOO**

Dean's Latin trembled and tripped, as he mentally begged his brother to resist, to use the holy water still in his hand.

But as the demon made contact with Sam's body, his brother contorted, terror freezing into his features.

Dean's heart dropped but somehow the litany coming from his mouth didn't stop, didn't slow, but moved onward at a fevered pitch.

Sam was twitching now, his body convulsing on the covers in an all too familiar way. He shouted the last words, felt them break into the air, watched the demon flinch, falling backwards from Sam as it solidified.

Rushing forward, Dean grasped the vial of holy water that had fallen from Sam's hand, spraying the demon full on. It hissed, retreating, fumbling toward the window in a haze of motion.

Dean thought to stop it, but without Sam, he'd have no one to hold it down while he finished the ritual. Sam--

He heard the shatter of glass and ignored it; Sam was his priority now.

"Sam," he called, moving quickly to his brother's side. "Sammy, talk to me."

Sam's eyes were wide, unblinking. Dean's heart stopped. _No..._

He reached a trembling hand to his brother's throat.

Sam's pulse throbbed beneath his fingers, faster than it should have been. Dean gripped Sam's shoulders and shook him, willing his baby brother to look at him. "Sammy, come on."

Sam's eyes remained vacant. He noticed the absence of movement in Sam's chest.

"Sam, snap out of it," he said, his voice more desperate this time. He needed to know Sam was okay, that Sam was still there. Dean didn't know what the demon had done to Sam's mind, but he knew the physical contact could not have been good for Sam's fragile mental state.

Dean felt for the pulse again, and it still thrummed but was weakening. Dean jerked Sam again, harder this time, and Sam's head flopped, his hair falling loosely about his head. "Sam, you need to wake up." His tone was harsh and to the point.

Then Sam's pupils dilated and Sam inhaled sharply.

Dean smiled, relief melting through him. "That's it, Sammy. Wake up."

Sam jerked, his eyes blinking. Then, faster than Dean was prepared for, Sam twisted away from him, spinning until he was poised behind Dean, his arms locked around his brother's head.

Dean choked, flailing, stunned by the sudden strength that had returned to Sam's movements. Sam's grip was vice-like, and it occurred to Dean suddenly that he needed to break Sam's hold and fast because his chest was already spasming for air.

He didn't want to hurt Sam, but he couldn't let Sam kill him either, so he forced his way to his feet, bringing Sam up with him. With all the energy he could muster, he slammed himself backwards into the wall. Sam took the brunt of the blow and Dean could feel his arms loosen from the impact. Exploiting the weakness, Dean slammed back hard again.

Without stopping, Dean reached him and grabbed his brother, using all his energy to propel Sam over his shoulder and to the bed where he landed in a heap.

"Sam?" he asked, moving warily toward his brother. He was concerned but didn't want a repeat of what had just happened.

This time Sam's eyes struggled for focus, full and wet. Confusion crossed his features. "Dean?"

Dean sat next to his brother with a sigh. "Yeah, Sammy."

"I...I attacked you?"

"You mind telling me what happened?"

Sam sat up, his former shakiness returning as he struggled to remain upright. "I...I thought...in my dream..."

"What dream?"

"You were...you weren't...I mean, you tried to kill me...it was in you this time..."

Dean waited a beat before prompting, "Sam?"

Sam's lower lip trembled. "It's inside me," Sam whispered. "I...I can't tell sometimes. What's real, what's not. It knows everything, knows how to use it all against me."

Sam admission was all the convincing Dean needed. "This ends tonight," he said.

"But how--"

"The thing's corporeal now. We know it's a demon of the woods. I'll go there, conjure it, bind it, then expel it."

"But--"

"But nothing, Sammy," Dean said, moving about the room, collecting his things. "This thing nearly killed you just now."

Sam's eyes were wide, filled with a fear Dean didn't like seeing. He swallowed. "Okay. Let's go," he said, rising off the bed.

Dean promptly pushed him back down. "_We're_ not going anywhere. You're staying here."

"Dean, come on--"

"No arguments, Sam. This thing is in your mind. You can't expect to fight that."

"You're going to need my help."

Dean couldn't bring himself to comment. His heart still pounded from the vacant look in Sam's eyes after the attack and his throat still felt sore from where Sam had tried to strangle him.

Sam appeared to remember to. "I'll stay in a circle of salt," Sam offered.

"That won't protect your mind."

"Dean, you can't just go on your own. This thing is powerful--"

"But weaker now that it's corporeal."

"I don't want you facing this alone."

He met Sam's eyes and saw real concern. "I know, Sammy. But it's too risky."

"You mean I'm a liability."

"Sam, it's not like that."

"I don't want to be responsible for getting you killed."

"Sam, look, you just have to trust me, okay? Trust me. This will be over tonight. But I need you to stay here for me, okay? Can you do that?"

Sam offered up a vague nod.

"And whatever happens while I'm gone, remember that it's not real, okay? It's not real, Sammy."

Sam merely nodded again.

Dean hesitated, wishing he could elicit more understanding from his kid brother. He didn't doubt Sam's strength or his ability, but this demon was too close to his brother and had already done more damaged than he cared to admit. Maybe if he had believed Sam sooner, maybe if they hadn't let it get this far--but there was no way he could focus on killing this demon when Sam was so close to the thing that was driving him out of his mind. Sam would understand it all when this was over. There would be time for peace later. Now it was time to kill this thing.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: **I wasn't going to post this, but then since I'm going to be gone until Sunday, I figured it'd be cruel to make you wait THAT long so I decided to go ahead and post. We're getting down to the wire here--three chapters and an epilogue after this one. Which is crazy to think about. And Gem told me to post, and since I do everything she tells me to do... But anyway, rambling aside, here it is!

**Chapter Twenty**

Dean moved swiftly and purposefully. He still knew which exorcism to use, and the conjuration rite and binding spell were frequently used passages in his father's journal. It was simple enough: conjure it, bind it, and exorcism the thing back to hell where it belonged.

But Dean knew there was nothing _simple_ about this job. Not when this thing had been in Sammy's head the way it had. Not when this thing had come so close to overthrowing Sam's strongest asset. Not when it had nearly undermined the very fabric of trust between Dean and his brother.

The woods were still and cool in the summer night. Dean could feel the holy water in his jacket pocket and he carried the journal in one hand and a flashlight in the other. This ended here and now.

The transition to corporeal form would have weakened the demon, and it would not be able to resist the conjuration. Dean knew it was risky, but counted on being able to see the demon before it could attack him. Stealth was no longer on its side, and Dean pegged his confidence on its confusion at its new form. After all, after several hundred years of invisibility, he figured the demon was probably a little rusty being corporeal again, if it ever had been.

Dean found a small clearing, and figured it would do. He pocketed the flashlight. Then he steadied himself, and began reading.

At first nothing happened. His words resounded eerily in the trees.

Then, the forest hummed and a wind picked it up. The rite was finished, and he tentatively flipped the pages, waiting.

Above the rising din, he heard it.

_You failed him._

Dean flinched, clenching his jaw. He took out his flashlight, switched it on.

_You've failed him in so many ways. And you will fail him still._

Dean shook his head, trying to clear the voices from his head. They were so strong, so insistent.

_You can't protect him._

It was here. He had to find it.

He turned, letting the flashlight flicker around the thicket. "Show yourself, you bastard!"

Then his flashlight caught something, a brief movement in the trees. With that, Dean turned his page, quickly beginning the binding spell.

The demon hissed in anger, thrashing, but the binding spell had done its job. But Dean knew it was not a permanent spell; he had to work fast, send this demon back to hell before he overcame the limitations of the spell. Without hesitating, he flipped to the next earmarked page. His Latin had never been fluent, but he was practiced tonight, and adrenaline eased his tongue's awkwardness as he began the exorcism.

"You came alone," the demon said in a voice he recognized, the voice that had been in his head. Its timbre made his Latin hesitate.

He glanced up.

It was staring at him. "I did not think you'd come alone," it said.

Dean ignored him, turned back to the page, picked up again.

"You cannot protect him."

Dean spoke the Latin louder.

"He will still succumb. He is weak. A betrayer."

The anger in Dean's stomach boiled over--this _thing _had the audacity to sit there and mock his brother, to talk about his brother like he was a victim, some weak sniiveling nobody. _This_ was the thing that had nearly turned Sammy's mind against himself. He charged the demon, fuming at it just beyond where it stood. "Shut up."

"His power called to me and I sought him like a beacon. Such power, such raw power. I could not resist. He was so easy to play with, so much fun to manipulate."

"Yeah, well, I'm going to manipulate your ass back to hell."

The demon seemed unfazed. "You deny his powers, downplay his abilities to protect himself, to protect you. But it makes him weak to the real threats."

Dean's hand clenched around the opened exorcism, but he could not bring himself to start it up again. His anger was too pervasive, too insistent. "Shut up."

"Do you think he doesn't remember? Do you think he doesn't feel?"

"Shut up!"

"You are afraid to hear because you know it is truth. You run from it like the coward you are. You cling to him because you are afraid. You protect him because you are afraid of losing him. You base your life on half truths."

Dean grabbed the demon's robes and pulled it close to his face. His voice was low and seething. "I am going to kill you."

The demon let out a hissing laugh. "Threats mean nothing to me. Your words are vanity, as they always are. You value them so little, heed them so irreverently. Words have been his destruction all along. Promises to talk never satisfied. Grief never expressed. Bonds rarely validated. Forgiveness so rarely given, even less asked for. It's the words that haunt him—the voices. You do know that, don't you? The dreams he has? The one of his girlfriend. She always asks him why and he never knows.

"But that is only one time of many. He hears so many voices. The voice of his father, comparing him to you. The voice of your father, never giving the praise, the love, the affection he so desperately wanted. Do you think he doesn't hear those words your father spoke to him that night? Ultimatums when he craved acceptance? He was broken by silence then and he is broken by it now."

Dean trembled, his face close to the demon's, meeting its eyes as it sneered down at him.

"Just as you failed him then, you fail him now."

Dean's arms were taut, every muscle straining with the exertion of not ripping the demon's head from its neck. He took a shuddering breath. _I can't tell sometimes. What's real, what's not. _It was doing it to him, too, Dean realized suddenly. It was trying to stall him, trying to wait until the binding spell was weak enough to break _It knows everything, knows how to use it all against me._

Shaking, Dean released the demon and stumbled backwards. One thought anchored him _I can't fail Sammy_.

He didn't spare the demon a look as it kept spewing vengeful truths at him.

"You won't be able to save him."

Dean let his voice rise, filling the dark forest with the ancient language.

The demon writhed. "You call him selfish, but you're the one who brought him back into this life. You brought him back to die with you."

The words cut Dean, and his Latin stumbled, but didn't stop.

"You're glad she died. You're glad she died and gave you back your brother."

Dean's face twitched with anger; he read on.

"You know he dreams about her and you don't want him to stop dreaming for _him_. You want him to stop dreaming for _you_. So you can have him back again. But you'll never have him back. Because he's broken. He's a betrayer. He left you twice."

_But he came back, he came back_. Dean's words paused before he clumsily flipped the page and shakily resumed reading.

The demon grunted, his eyes narrowed as pain lanced through his being. "Then he turned the gun on you, too. He's weak, and you can't save him from his own weakness. That's why you'll lose him. You'll try and try, but you'll fail him in the end."

_Nothing bad is going to happen to you._ The words flew. _You're my brother and I'd die for you_.

Its chest heaved with exertion. "Even now you're losing."

The words were tapering off, the exorcism almost done. Dean could feel it weakening, hear it in its voice. "It's almost over," Dean said, moving forward, a smile playing mockingly on his lips. "It's almost over and then we'll see who's laughing. You won't lay a hand on Sammy again."

It grinned wickedly, letting his eyes bore deeply into Dean. His voice was slow, even, menacing. "I won't have to."

Dean's heart dropped and his stomach went cold and Dean spat out the last bits of Latin with vehemence. "Amen."

There was a violent hissing and the foliage around him bent a danced as the demon began to tear apart. Dean ducked as debris began flying.

It was dying, but it certainly wasn't going quietly.

The ground shook and the trees quivered. There was a loud roar and a rush of light. Then the commotion collapsed within itself.

And all was silent.

Dean peaked out from his arm, to be sure the demon was indeed gone. But the forest was still and he could hear the hum of crickets starting up again and the stars twinkled between treetops. Dean let out a breath.

It was over.

The demon was dead.

But then his heart fluttered in his chest _"I won't have to."_

Demons lied. Demons could get inside the mind, especially this one, and use one's own fears against him.

For some reason, though, Dean believed this one and the thought made him numb.

_Sam_.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: **So without any further ado...just what is Sam DOING back in that motel room...? This chapter is for all the SFCOL(AR)S members (JJ Phoenix and iluvsmallvile)and potential initiates (looks at PointofView) and anyone who just really loves all we stand for. And to Gem--the only person who I would EVER consider monitoring my fic intake for.

**Chapter Twenty-One**

The motel room seemed unsettlingly empty. Sam tried watching the TV, but it didn't seem right while he knew where his brother was and what his brother was doing. He couldn't shake the doubting voice in his head that told Sam he should be with his brother. Dean was fighting _his _demons and all he could do was sit in a motel room and wait.

Sam hated the thought of Dean out there alone. His brother needed backup. Sam should be able to have Dean's back as often as Dean had his. _But you can't be trusted. You'll fail him, you'll betray him_.

Sam shook his doubts away, standing up and moving toward the bathroom. He trusted Dean, he trusted Dean's judgement. If it was too dangerous, it was too dangerous. After all, things hadn't exactly been crystal clear for Sam the last few days.

In the bathroom, he took a heavy breath, pausing to examine his scruffy appearance in the mirror. Gauging how bruised his eyes looked and how pale his complexion was, he couldn't blame Dean for not trusting him.

Sam turned off the faucet. _It's you_.

The voice startled him and he spun around, looking for the intruder.

_The darkness is in you_.

The voice echoed again from behind and he spun back toward the vanity in desperation.

_The darkness is in you. It's you._

The voice came faster now, more insistent. He stumbled, turning endlessly, trying to find its source in the small room. The voice doubled and Sam's breath hitched. His vision became untethered and he felt himself drifting into panic.

His senses abruptly returned as he hit the cold tile floor, legs tangled over the toilet.

The voices were gone and he panted as he tried to get his bearings. He tried to remember Dean's words. _It's not real, Sammy._

Sam laughed breathlessly. "It's not real." Dean was after the thing, killing it. "It's not real."

His courage rallied, he stood, steadying himself on the vanity. As his eyes crossed his features in the mirror, he gasped, pulling back in surprise.

Instead of his reflection, he saw a tall figure, shrouded in black, the hood low over its face.

"No," Sam whispered. "Not real." They had made it corporeal and Dean had conjured it, was conjuring it, was exorcising it. It wasn't here. It couldn't be here.

"I am as real as you," the figure said in a sickeningly familiar voice.

"No, Dean said—"

"I am your reality. I am you and you are me."

"No," Sam said, tears springing to his eyes uncontrollably.

The figure smiled. "Yes, Sam. You know who I am." A spindly hand carefully pulled the hood, slowly revealing the face beneath.

Horror passed through Sam as he recognized the reflection.

There he stood, grinning back at himself, his eyes blackened and soulless.

The reflection relished Sam's fear, letting his eyes subdue the young Winchester. "I am you, and you are darkness. Come, Sam."

Sam felt himself teetering, the mental precipice of sanity nearly completely eroded. "No…," he whimpered.

"You are darkness."

Sam shook his head, tears flowing now, and he tried to deny, tried to resist. _It's not real, Sammy_.

Dean.

_It's not real._

"You are darkness."

The pull of the voice was powerful, nearly overwhelming, but he clung to his brother's voice. With a primal scream, Sam lunged at his reflection, taking his fists to the glass and letting it shatter around him.

The force drained him, and when he realized the mirror was in broken shards around him, he sank back against the door. _It's not real_.

He almost laughed, he was so relieved, and sat there, oblivious to the blood running from his scratched hands. It was all in his head.

_You cannot run from me, because I am you._

No. The voice wasn't real. Dean?

But Dean offered nothing, no solace. _You hate me that much. You're a selfish bastard, you know that?_

Please. No. Dean.

_Why, Sam?_

No.

_I am always with you. As you are, I will always be._

It was then that Sam knew its weakness, felt it. Dean was wrong. It was real, in all the ways that mattered.

_It's you, Sam_. _You killed them. You killed Dean._

It didn't matter if he was the demon, or if it was just after him, or even if this demon was nothing but a figment of his imagination. It didn't matter if it was this demon or the next or the demon to end all demons. He existed with them, he existed in them, and they would seek him forever. He had nearly succumbed so many times, he had killed the two women who he loved most, and his mind had fallen so easily to the wiles of darkness.

It would destroy him, destroy Dean either way. He had to end it, stop it. He couldn't run far enough. Dean would always find him, they'd always find each other.

_No_. There was only one way.

_You're my brother, and I'd die for you_.

It was time to keep that promise.

There was only one way. If he couldn't destroy it, he could destroy himself.

The guns, the knives, the weapons. Dean had locked them up, taken them from him sometime after he'd started sleepwalking.

His hands left bloody trails on the white tile as he grappled to stand. It made Sam stop.

He didn't need a gun. He didn't need a knife.

His legs felt suddenly steady as he straightened in the sterile bathroom. The glass crunched under his feet, but he didn't hear it. He didn't feel it, he didn't see it. His senses had left him, became deadened to all except the voice.

_Join me._

It was soft but insistent.

_They're not real_.

Maybe not—but he was.

Shaking, Sam lifted a large triangular shard of the mirror, feeling its sharp edges in his hands.

He would go where the voices couldn't find him, where he couldn't find Dean.

The glass was poised above his wrist.

_I'm sorry._


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: **I won't babble a lot this time--we need to see if Sam does what we think he's going to do and if Dean can run as fast as we hope he can. I don't want you to keep calling me evil or anything... :)

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Dean ran. He ran faster than when a ghost was chasing him, faster than when a possessed animal was nipping at his feet, faster than he ever had before.

He could hear himself saying it, hear the confidence dripping in his voice as victory was so imminent._"You won't lay a hand on Sammy again."_

But the demon didn't give him the satisfaction of gloating. Dean could still see the sinister, amused smirk. _"I won't have to."_

What would Sam do? What would he be led to do? Dean knew his brother's mental state had been tenuous at best, but that didn't mean--

All Sam had done was imagine things, hear a few voices, see a person, a building that wasn't really there, attack one unlucky man, but that was it. Sam was acting a little bit crazy, not totally connected with reality--sure, his kid brother had even attacked _him_, but that didn't mean--

If only the demon hadn't been so cocky. If only it hadn't been so convincing, so pervasive, so persuasive.

Dean had only been in contact with the demon for a short while and it had easily pushed his buttons. Sam's exposure had been much more prolonged. But it was dead now. Sam would be safe. He would just sleep it all off. After all, what else would Sam do?

Sam wouldn't--

Dean increased his pace as his stomach dropped.

He had taken the weapons. What could Sam do locked in a motel room?

But they had been raised to be resourceful, and Dean knew that was a lesson Sam hadn't forgotten.

If only he had believed Sam sooner.

Terror numbed him, spreading from his gut to his extremities, making him feel lightheaded as he sprinted.

His legs burned, felt like rubber by the time the trees thinned and he saw the motel. But he didn't stop, just kept running until he stumbled into the door. He cursed as he fumbled for his key, pounding the door as he retrieved it. "Sammy!"

He didn't wait for a reply, but slid the key card in and panted impatiently for his electronic beep. He burst in and fell silent, overtaken by the stifling calm that greeted him.

For a moment, all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing in the stale air. "Sam?"

The emptiness reverberated with his voice. He moved in. The bathroom door was ajar and Dean's heart skipped a beat, remembering the last time he'd found his brother in the bathroom. "Sammy?"

He nudged the door open. "Sam," he gasped, gaping at the scene before him.

Broken glass spilled off the countertop, littering the tiled floor. There were bright red smudges smeared throughout the bathroom, creating a grotesque mosaic of glass and blood.

Sam cowered in the corner, beside the toilet. He was holding a piece of glass in his bloody hand and it was poised over his wrist.

_Damn. Not good. _Whatever effect the demon had had on Sam, it certainly hadn't vanished with the demon's death.

Dean forced himself to calm, trying to slow his breathing and still his shaking hands. He approached Sam as though he were a wounded animal--slowly, deliberately, his hands raised in a gesture of supplication.

"Sammy, what are you doing?" Dean managed to keep his voice low, patient, as though the question was innocent, not a matter of life and death--Sam's life or death. He licked his lips and tried to swallow the fear that nearly overwhelmed him.

Sam merely pushed himself back farther, pressing his body as far from Dean as he could. He still didn't look at Dean. "Stay back. Just--stay away from me. I have to..." Sam's words tapered off and he shook his head, over and over.

Dean obeyed, pausing where he was, ignoring the fact that everything in him just wanted to reach out and grab the glass away from Sam, to pull Sam to him, to make Sam safe. "It's okay," he said gently. "It's okay. I'll just stay right here, okay?"

But Sam's head was still moving, back and forth without ceasing.

Dean bit back a sigh of frustration. "Sam, listen to me. It's over now, okay? The demon's dead." Dean's voice was quiet, gentle.

"It's never over." Sam didn't look at Dean; his eyes were wildly searching the walls, straying to the corners of the room. "There's always something else. There'll always be something else. It will never stop until it gets me, until it gets you, Dean. I can't let it get you. I can't."

"Sam," he was begging. He edged closer. "It's not going to get me. It's dead already."

Sam's hand tensed on the glass and he looked up, meeting Dean's eyes. "I can't let it hurt you. I can't let me hurt you."

It took every ounce of control Dean had not to reach out for Sam. "You'd never hurt me, Sammy."

Sam's lower jaw trembled and a tear trickled down his face. "I've already betrayed you once, Dean. You know I'll do it again. I can't let that happen."

"No, you didn't—"

Sam's eyes wandered again, this time finding the glass-strewn floor. "I pulled the trigger four times."

"It wasn't loaded, Sam."

Sam's voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "Not this time."

Dean shook his head, trying to speak, trying to quell the look in his brother's eyes.

"You're my brother and I'd die for you," Sam said, his voice drifting in the stillness of the bathroom.

"You don't have to die for me," Dean said, inching closer.

Sam's hand jerked and the glass scraped against his exposed wrist.

Dean stopped himself with a stifled curse. "This isn't real. What you're feeling—it's not real."

Trembling, Sam raised his head, staring at him through tears. "I can't take that chance," he said. "Max was right."

Dean's mind raced. If he could keep Sam talking, keep Sam thinking--he had to keep Sam from doing anything with the glass pressed to his wrist. "What was he right about?"

"That there's only one real way to fix it, to stop things from happening because of what I am. You can kill everything around you to try to fix it, but it doesn't do anything. He was right when he turned the gun on himself--because that's the only real way to end it, once and for all.

"That's not true. You're not like him--"

"I'm just like him!" Sam voice pitched brokenly, tears streaming in rivulets down his cheeks. "It doesn't matter how it happens, but we both destroyed the people around us. I killed Mom, Jess, Dean--I'll kill you too, eventually and I can't--I won't--I can't--"

Dean felt his breath hitching and panic tingling in his fingers.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, miserable and dejected. "I don't know…I can't tell…This is the only way."

Dean saw it happening, saw Sam's hand moving hard and sure on the already damaged wrist, and he didn't hesitate. He surged forward, hands gripping Sam's forearms.

There was a struggle, but it was brief, and ended with Sam on the floor against the wall and Dean squeezing his hands with a vice-like grip.

For a moment, Dean just held him, relieved that Sam's days of not eating and not sleeping had left him weakened enough for Dean to so quickly overpower him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to find the words, the right thing to say or do that would finally break the nightmare's hold over his brother.

He didn't have anything to offer but himself.

"This, Sam," he said, carefully pulling Sam's fingers away from the glass. It clattered to the tile and he entangled his brother's hand in his own. "This is real," he said in a hoarse whisper.

Sam trembled, his chest heaving. He could feel the warmth in Dean's rough hands, the way his fingers curled over his own. He could feel Dean's pulse throbbing against his own. _Is this a dream?_

"Sammy, don't you forget this," Dean said, pulling Sam into his embrace. "This is what's real. This is what matters. Just you and me. Just us. That's what's real and you have to remember that."

Sam couldn't find his voice, couldn't feel his body, just the sudden, undeniable presence of his brother.

They were rocking now, Sam's head tucked under Dean's chin. "Just us, Sammy. Just us."

Sam felt disconnected, trying to make Dean's voice mesh with the voice of the demon, the voice in his head. Part of him wanted to pull away, to try to figure this out, but he couldn't bring his body to work, and something inside him did not want to break the embrace that held him.

Sam could still feel the fear, the need tugging at him. Fear that none of this was real. Fear that he would hurt Dean, that he would lose him, that all his nightmares would come to pass. The need to to protect Dean--from this demon, from the demon, from everything--but most of all from himself.

He shivered. The images, the emotions, the images--they assaulted him still, replaying in his mind vividly. What was real? How could he know what was real?

The demon--the demon had been real. It had to be real. It had been here--blaming him, telling him he was the betrayer, enforcing the certainty that Sam would destroy everything he had left in life as surely as he had destroyed his mother, Jess, Max...as surely as he would destroy Dean.

He couldn't deny that. He couldn't make it go away. It was too true, too terrifying, too persistent. It haunted him and always had and he feared it always would

But Dean--Dean was real too. He had to be. Dean was here, like he had always been, solid and comforting and holding him up when he fell. Dean believed in him.

Sam wanted to believe too--wanted to believe so badly. But there were too many questions, too many doubts...he didn't know how to trust himself anymore.

Dean was still rocking him, his hands strong and unyielding, but still somehow tender and caring.

It was so soothing, so peaceful, so _real_, that the internal debate faded and Sam trusted it above all else. "I didn't know what to believe."

Dean sighed, letting his hand sift through Sam's hair. He hated how broken Sam sounded, how Sam seemed to be shattered all over the bathroom floor with the mirror. "Leave that to me for now, okay?"

Sam didn't respond, but he didn't move, and Dean didn't let go. He felt the tension in Sam's body dissipate as Sam unconsciously surrendered himself to his brother's care.

Overwhelmed by all that he had been through and by the sudden feeling of being safe, of being secure, of being cared for, Sam fell asleep. His weight shifted until Dean held nearly all of it within his secure embrace. For a moment, Dean relished the sensation, the feeling of being Sam's protector as he had been since Sam was a baby.

His legs, which were curled up underneath him, began to numb, and he gently manuevered until he was sitting, Sam still shielded in his arms. As he repositioned, he felt the glass cutting through his pants, and took a good look at the scene around him.

The bathroom was a mess. He would have a terrible time trying to explain it to the manager, and he knew there would be a hefty fine for the shattered mirror. He'd have to clean up the blood, though, to avoid explanations he didn't feel like fabricating.

He felt his heart skip a beat. It wasn't just blood he had to clean up--it was _Sam's_ blood. It surprised him suddenly just how much of it there was, how it was on the counter, on the toilet, on the walls, on the floor...

And on his hands, his clothes, on him. That wasn't something he would ever get used to, wasn't something he ever _wanted_ to get used to.

He could clean up the bathroom, make it nearly spotless before they left, but he had no idea if he could ever put Sam back together again.

**OOOOOOO**

Sam had virtually collapsed into bed and was asleep before his head hit the pillow. He didn't stir even as Dean tended the cuts on his arms and legs.

Dean was gentle and thorough as he wiped antiseptic on all of them and bandaged the worst, taking his time and tending to each gash singularly. When he was done, he pulled the blankets over Sam and sat back, watching.

Sam looked like hell, pale and drawn and blooded. It was both unnerving and gratifying to see Sam asleep--rest had been so elusive for his kid brother that Dean knew that sleep was the only way Sam would physically recover. But he also knew how much Sam's sleep had been plagued recently. And even though the demon was dead, it was already clear that its effects did not die with it, and Dean fretted that Sam may continue to suffer nightmares until Dean had no choice except to take Sam back to the hospital.

Dean let his hand linger on Sam's chest, letting the even rhythm of Sam's heart calm him. His brother's slackened features looked oddly calm, as though for once the sleep was a refuge, and Dean wished more than anything that he could keep it that way.

When he flopped back onto his own bed, the fatigue he had been holding back in his own body nearly overwhelmed him. The last week came rushing back, and the weight of what had been done and almost lost finally caught up with him. He realized it had been days since he himself had slept well, and it was calling to him deeply.

Dean glanced at his brother again. He sighed, then rolled onto his back, his eyes fluttering. The demon may have attacked Sam, but Dean realized suddenly that it had affected him just as profoundly. It had uncovered their fears, given voice to their pains and hurts. It had left nothing sacred and showed that for all their strength, real vulnerability lay just beneath the surface, just waiting to break through.

Dean wanted to forget, wanted to pretend like it hadn't happened, wanted to let sleep erase all the questions, all the issues, all the fears. But he knew it couldn't. What was there in the dark would still be there in the morning. All he could do was help Sam face it.

He didn't want to fall asleep, didn't want to trust the sleep that had already taken Sam under, but the darkness was so alluring, that he could not stop himself from drifting into it.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:** I could worry obsessively over this chapter for awhile longer, because I still am not happy with it, but I'm going to get over it and post. This is the last chapter. There's an epilogue to follow. I sincerely hope I don't disappoint after all this. Anything good in this chapter is because of geminigrl11, who really is the most exceptional beta (and friend). Anyway, onto the boys...

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

When Dean next woke, he wasn't sure what day it was.

The sun was out and the room was warm, but Dean could not place how much time had passed.

Turning over, he saw Sam still sleeping on the next bed.

Dean's stomach growled, and he thought about going out to grab some food, bringing something back for Sam. But glancing again at his brother, he remembered everything they'd been through, and couldn't bring himself to leave him.

Instead he took out his father's journal, perusing the pages, waiting for his brother to awaken.

Time seemed to slip by, slowly, until he finally heard something shift beside him. Sure enough, Sam was waking, blinking blearily into the daylight.

As Sam came to full consciousness, Dean saw him search frantically. "Is it here? Is it here?"

Dean was already over by his brother. "No, Sam, hey, calm down. Nothing's here."

Sam seemed to flinch at his words and when he saw Dean's face, he flushed and pulled away. "I...is this a dream?"

Dean wasn't sure what he had expected, but this certainly wasn't the response he had hoped for. "No, this is real now, Sam."

Sam shook his head. "But I remember...I remember the hospital and the demon...and these voices. Always these voices."

"Yeah, it's been a crazy couple of days."

Sam didn't seem to hear him. "I couldn't tell. You told me it wasn't real, but...I couldn't tell."

Dean sensed Sam starting to panic, his expression growing confused and his movements jerky. "Sam--"

"Did I...?" he looked down at his bandaged arms. "Did I do this?" He turned his eyes desperately back to Dean. "This is a dream."

"No," Dean said quickly, grabbing Sam's hand and pulling it to his chest. "Real. Remember?"

Sam still looked panicked, but as his hand felt the beating of his brother's heart, his features calmed somewhat though his brow was still scrunched in confusion. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"It wasn't all a dream. Was it?"

Dean actually laughed, releasing Sam's hand and sitting back on the edge of the bed. "No, Sammy, unfortunately it wasn't."

"It was...a demon? All of it? The dreams? The things I saw?"

"Yeah, a demon," Dean agreed. He paused before he spoke again, trying to find the words. "But Sam--I think we still need to talk."

"It made me see things. It made me dream. About you. About Jessica."

"Yeah."

"But it wasn't real," Sam said, sounding more confident.

"No. It made you seem crazy..."

"So the hospital...it was real?"

"Yeah," Dean said with an awkward chuckle. "Sorry about that."

"You killed it," Sam concluded as he pieced together the remaining details. "And we're okay now. Right?"

Sam sounded so hopeful, so in need of affirmation, that Dean wanted to give Sam the easy answer. But glossing over things was what had gotten them here in the first place. Dean forced a smile. "Yeah. We're okay." He paused, looking for the words. "I know the demon pushed you, Sam, messed with you. But--the PTSD--"

Sam stiffened visibly, looking away from his brother.

Dean kept his gaze steady on his brother. "It's not all fake. Is it?"

"The demon--"

"The demon made you see things, Sam. It pushed you over the edge, but all of this--it was all still there."

Sam's voice was small. "I'm fine."

"I don't think you're fine."

Sam's eyes searched for anything but his brother's face.

"Sam? Come on. I think we need to deal with this."

"There's nothing to deal with, Dean," Sam insisted, strained and quiet.

"Sam, eight months ago--"

"Was a lifetime ago," Sam finished for him sharply, his eyes flashing as he looked up. "It was a different life."

Dean saw the crack in Sam's facade and his suspicions of Sam's percarious mental state were confirmed. He couldn't back down now. "You can't just forget about it."

"And I can't dwell on it either, can I?"

"Your girlfriend _died_. You saw her burst into flames. You _have _to deal with this."

"Dean--"

"We've let this slide long enough--"

Sam shook his head, gritting his teeth, pleadingly. "Dean--"

Dean pushed further, sensing Sam's breaking point. "No more avoiding this--"

And there it was. Sam's composure snapped without warning. "What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say?" he asked, his voice like gravel. "That I miss her everyday? That I can still feel her blood on my head? _My_ head? That I see the terror in her eyes when she burned alive and didn't know why? I lied to her and I can never take that back. Everything I hoped for, dreamed for, worked for--everything I _left_ for--and I have _nothing_ to show for it. I betrayed you, I betrayed Dad. I betrayed Jess, and it got me nowhere."

"Sam--" Dean started to protest. He had been waiting for this, but it didn't make it easy to hear.

"What?" Sam exploded. "What comfort is there, Dean? What? There's nothing you can say that will change it, that will make it all right. I did this to myself. I should have known better. But instead I just did what I wanted and you had to save me. Again." Sam's eyes glistened as he met his brother's gaze. "Why do you always have to pull me from the fire? You are always saving me and I'm not worth it. I'm not, I mean--" His head fell and he cradled it in his hands.

"Sam, stop," Dean said. He swallowed thickly. "Yes. You are worth it. And I do it because I have to. Because..." Dean's voice caught. "Because I don't think I could live without you. But for all ways I tried to protect you, I've messed this up more than I can even explain."

"This isn't _your_ problem, Dean. This one isn't about you. I can handle this on my own." Sam's voice grated angrily.

"This _is_ my problem because you're my brother. Don't you get that? We're in this together."

Sam shook his head tightly. "There are some things I need to deal with on my own--"

"Nuh-uh," Dean interrupted. "That one doesn't fly anymore. Not after all of this. Not after what happened. Because that whole don't-ask-don't-tell policy really hasn't gotten us very far. All this time I've been so worried about the next gig and haven't paid attention to what you were feeling or what you'd been through. I never thought about it before, but come on, Sam. You never tell me about college. You never tell me about Jess. It's like you lost four years and neither of us ever acknowledge it."

Sam clenched his teeth and blinked rapidly. "I didn't want to remind you that I left."

Dean gaped. "Sam, you're not the one who should be worried about _my_ emotions. Not after everything you've been through. Not with Jess, the demon, your powers...," Dean trailed off, unable to explore the weight of these issues. "You know it's okay to grieve, don't you? I don't expect you to be a robot about all this."

Sam's lower jaw quivered. "I just--I didn't--I'm--"

Dean watched as his brother tried to pull into himself, and felt the breakdown Sam was desperately keeping at bay. He inched forward. "It's okay, Sammy."

All at once, Sam broke, the events from the last few days and the last eight months culminating inside of him and released in a broken sob. Another sob shook Sam's lean frame, and another, before Dean pulled his brother into his arms.

Sam's brokenness scared him, made him feel weak and afraid, but as Sam trembled in his grasp, falling apart in his arms, he knew this was what Sam needed. He felt the anguish overflowing in Sam, the unspoken despair that lurked beneath his brother's facade realized for in a single instant. He murmured nothingness into Sam's hair, stroking the dark locks, and simply holding on, holding Sam together, his own tears slipping silently down his face as he realized what he'd come so close to losing.

Eight months of pain and guilt couldn't be erased in a single conversation, in one solitary session of grieving. They had spent a lifetime running away from their feelings, and one close encounter wouldn't be enough to undo all the damage already done. But denial and avoidance had nearly cost them everything, and that wasn't a price Dean was willing to pay for his own fear of feeling.

He didn't know how to make Sam better. He didn't know how to make himself better. He didn't know how either of them would ever heal from everything that had happened in their lives. But as he held Sam, his own emotions too raw to be denied, he hoped that this was a start.


	24. Epilogue

**A/N:** And this is it. The last bit of this story. I'll make a longer note at the end.

* * *

**Epilogue**

There were still two things that Dean knew better than anything else.

The first was still his brother. He felt he probably understood Sam better than he ever had. He still didn't know everything that went on inside Sam's head (and he knew he probably would never want to) but he knew about the emotions Sam tried so often to hide from him.

He knew how his brother hurt, which awakened a new level of protectiveness in Dean that was more pressing than anything else. And he knew that Sam still hurt, that he hadn't magically gotten over Jess or the onset of his powers or the myriad of unexpected ways his life had changed since Dean had first come for him in Palo Alto. But Dean trusted that Sam wouldn't keep it from him anymore.

Sam's color had returned and so had the sharpness in his eyes. The effects of the demon might never truly go away, but Sam was dealing with it, and Dean would be sure he kept on dealing with it.

The other was still his car. When Gene handed him back the keys, he'd nearly felt like crying, so moved to finally be in possession of his baby again that he nearly forgot how the man's incompetence had kept them here so long and cost so much.

But it didn't matter. The credit card wasn't his, and when he turned the key in the ignition, the Impala purred to life.

Dean glanced at his brother, who smiled at him with a shake of his head. Dean grinned back, put on his sunglasses and pulled the car out of the gas station.

"You ready to blow this town, little brother?"

Sam sighed, looking out across town. "You have no idea."

Dean looked out for a moment himself.. "I think I might."

With smooth motions, Dean put the car into gear and pulled the car out onto the street. Soon, New Junction was nothing but a speck in the rearview mirror. Neither Dean nor Sam looked back.

As the highway stretched in front of him, Dean could feel Sam relaxing in the passenger seat, resuming his comfortable place at Dean's side. Dean felt the highway thrumming beneath the tires and tried to settle himself in for the long haul ahead.

He straightened when he thought he heard a noise, straining to be sure that the Impala was truly back to its old self. He almost thought he heard an uncertain pinging in the engine and he turned to Sam to ask the question.

But Sam was looking at the window, and he looked so contented, that Dean could not bring himself to disturb him.

Looking back out at the road, he let himself relax. Maybe he was just being paranoid.

* * *

**A/N 2: **This has been such a long process--and I'm so grateful for those who have stuck with me even through the more boring parts. It's been an incredible experience for me, and that's thanks to all of you who have read this and reviewed. I can't thank you all enough for making this so worth while. It's so good to know there are people just as obsessed as I am when it comes to this show. Again thanks goes to Lauren, who gave me the idea in the first place. And there really aren't words to express thanks to Gem, but she knows them all anyway. She alone is the reason that I can and do write. So any complaints or compliments go her way too :) As for my next fic, I'm not sure what yet, but I have some ideas, but there's going to be a lag before my next epic starts (but rest assured there will be a next one--I am so addicted to writing right now, I doubt I could stop if I tried). And let's just hope (for my sanity and Gem's) that it's nowhere near this long. 


End file.
